


Law and Disorder

by wellrounded_square



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, Bassist Butters, Bullying, Drummer Kenny, F/M, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Kenny McCormick, Guitarist Craig, Is this a song fic?, Kenny can't die, Law student Kyle, M/M, MOOP, Meet-Cute, Pining, Slow Burn, Vocalist Red, bitch it might be, duh - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 04:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15088922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellrounded_square/pseuds/wellrounded_square
Summary: Shortly after turning 22, Kenny McCormick's band, MOOP, finally reaches stardom when one of their first album's songs tops the alternative charts. With a hit song under the band's belt and a nation-wide tour just wrapping up, Kenny feels relieved to be back in Denver. Before he can check in with his sister and brother, though, he decides to hit up a cafe at the ungodly hour of four thirty am. He never expected to meet the hottest person of his young life, nor did he predict spilling coffee all over their laptop. Hopefully the redheaded spitfire won't bite his head off before Kenny can make it up to him.





	1. gnome reverie and coffee catasrophe

Kenny has never bought into the conspiratorial ramblings of Craig's boyfriend. Yet, as the remaining two people in the Harbucks scream bloody murder around him and at him, he can't help but think that this must be the fault of those gnomes that Tweek blamed for everything. Tweek, himself, spasms and screeches behind the counter more so as a reaction to the other person yelling than anything else. Kenny's whole attention locks in on the other patron, however. The words he spits at Kenny don't register as much as the enraged flush across his cheeks and the expressive movements of his hands. In fact, Kenny steps back before he has to literally catch this stranger's hand on its way to his face. The blond tunes back in to attempt to defuse the situation while subtly adjusting his pants to ease his discomfort.

"-go of my hand you creep! Are you going to assault me, too now that you've ruined my thesis? Huh?" the man demands and Kenny amiably drops his pale hand. The redheaded man rubs his wrist and glares daggers at Kenny with his hazel eyes. This certainly wasn't how Kenny had planned this late night/early morning excursion.

\--

"If my ass has to sit in another plane chair in the next month I'm going to set something on fire. Probably myself."

Kenny rolls his eyes at the melodramatic complaints of Craig. Their guitarist may wear a poker face most of the day, but he certainly has no trouble voicing all his bitching in that nasally bass voice of his. Luckily for Kenny, Butters swoops in with encouraging words despite his own exhaustion.

"Aw, c'mon, Craig. All a' this plane business just means we finally made it. An' anyway, we're fixin' to be home soon anyway," Butters soothes. Craig glances over and pouts. Kenny swears that despite being the oldest in the band, Craig behaves more like a 13 year old than the man of 23 years he truly is. Craig's head whips forward under the force of a light slap, the pout on his face falling into mild shock.

"Yeah, you little shit. Especially since we all know the real reason you're grumpy," Red brings her hand back down to the strap of her carry-on and sends a shit-eating grin her cousin's way. Craig frowns and huffs in annoyance as Red singsongs, "Someone misses a certain twitchy barista."

This sends Kenny into a fit of sleep-deprived giggles. The four of them gather themselves to trudge over to the baggage claim and proceed to load their belongings into the back of a taxi van. They pile in and shove each other around until the cab pulls away from the curb with Butters already falling asleep on Kenny's shoulder and Red continuously poking Craig in the face to keep him from doing the same.

Kenny glances down at Butters' sleeping face. The scar running vertically across the boy's left eye used to hurt Kenny a great deal. Now he accepts that Butters has long since forgiven his childish stupidity and laughs along with him when he suggests it makes him look like a badass. Fluffy, straw-colored hair covers Butters' right eye, though normally it was brushed to cover that "badass" scar. Kenny smiles fondly, uses his right hand to gently ruffle those top-heavy locks, and turns to look out the window.

Ah, Denver, home sweet home. Sort of. The Denver skyline never fails to impress Kenny a bit, but that's to be expected after growing up in a podunk town like South Park. The sun has long since set and the skyscrapers glow like a million glow sticks at a rave without end. Even at this late hour people wander the sidewalks to do whatever people do at fuck o' clock in the morning. The cab navigates the streets of Denver until Kenny has to shake Butters' shoulder because they'd arrived at the band's penthouse apartment. 

Thankfully Craig and Red pick up the slack in carrying their equipment since Butters seemed incapable of carrying more than the backpack Kenny slipped onto his shoulders. Kenny pays the cab fair and tip and jogs in through the door that Craig holds open with a straining foot. One of the perks of being a famous musician had to be that their buildings elevator always worked. They'd have probably slept in the lobby had the stairs been their only option to reach the tenth floor. 

After the ceremonious kicking open of the door, the music equipment is carefully placed in its home and the remaining luggage is thrown somewhere near the wrap-around couch. Kenny makes sure Butters actually makes it to his bed, pulls up his covers since making contact with the mattress took away Butters' last shreds of consciousness. He then saunters out into the living area where Craig sprawls across the couch letting out a long-winded groan. Red stands in front of the fridge, filling a glass of water in her underwear. Kenny can only assume she ditched her outerwear while he was tucking Butters in, but he also knows better than to comment. His dick remembers the price paid when one flirts with Red in her home. 

"Night, losers, gg on the tour," Red drones, padding off to her bedroom and shutting the door. Kenny looks down to Craig, who amazingly continues to groan. The man's hat has fallen off, likely when he fell onto the couch, and his black hair fans out around his head. He stares blankly at the ceiling, which Kenny figures has to be pretty damn boring. He nudges Craig with his knee but this only serves to increase the volume of the noise emanating from Craig's open mouth. 

Kenny sighs, "Craig, as much as I love hearing you moan for me, it's kinda getting annoying." When Craig merely grunts in response, Kenny walks over and grabs his coat from the hook. "I'm gonna go get some coffee, man. I won't be sleeping tonight, anyway. I'm takin' my keys, make sure you get your ass to bed before I come back or I'll tell Tweek about your photo collection." As Kenny crosses the threshold he hears an intake of breath interrupt the groan and a whisper filled with panic and anger:

"You wouldn't dare."

Kenny smirks. He shuts the door.

\--

Now Kenny finds himself as one of those people that wanders the streets of Denver at four thirty in the morning. He's only looking for a caffeinated beverage, though, not some other sort of fix. About a block and a half away from his apartment, he pushes the door open to Harbucks. They open at four, which seems ridiculous, but here Kenny stands, proof that some random bastard will want coffee at this hour. A quick scan of the café shows two other occupants. The first is familiar and Kenny cracks a gap-toothed grin at the blond that nurses what must be at least his second cup of coffee this shift. Tweek usually takes the morning shift, which partially motivated Kenny to come get coffee. Craig may miss Tweek because they're dating, but Kenny missed Tweek's entertainment. 

"Tweek! Craig probably told you, but we're back in town," Kenny announces as he strolls up to the counter. Tweek predictably jerks at Kenny's loud voice and he nearly slams his coffee mug onto the granite countertop. 

"K-kenny! Oh, yeah. Rgh, Craig sent me a t-text when you guys touched, hngh, touched down," Tweek's right eye twitches a bit, but overall this looks like it's going to be a good day for him, Kenny thinks. The blond orders a frappucino, which causes Tweek to scrunch his face up in obvious disapproval. Tweek's unabashed critique of people's drink choices always amused Kenny, and this morning is no different. He lets out a chortle which turns into a full on guffaw as Tweek regales him with the new nefarious deeds of the gnomes. Shortly after Craig and Tweek began dating, Kenny insisted to Tweek that he wanted any and all information Tweek had on the gnomes. Tweek didn't seem to mind that Kenny would smile and giggle at every update. It appears that this time, though, someone did mind.

"Excuse me, can you please pipe down?" a tired and clearly irritated voice chimes in when Tweek takes a deep breath and Kenny lets out a particularly loud snort. 

Kenny turns to more closely observe the second occupant of Harbucks he noticed as he walked in earlier. His eyes widen and his grin falls. Over at one of the tables by the window sits a man with a mess of red curls atop his head. His eye bags are visible against pale skin from across the café and he appears to wear worn pajamas. Kenny stares at who has to be one of the hottest men he's ever seen in all his 22 years. 

Tweek must have begun making Kenny's order, because the whir of machines sounds behind the blond and the ramblings about gnomes have stopped. Kenny recovers himself when the redhead huffs and turns back to his laptop, seemingly satisfied now that Kenny is struck silent. The redhead furiously types away at the laptop and Kenny notes a full mug of coffee next to him on the table, the steam long since dissipated. A finger taps Kenny's shoulder and Kenny whirls. Tweek flinches back, which Kenny feels bad about, but he simply reaches into his pocket for some loose bills to hand over. He tells Tweek to keep the change and grabs his frappucino. 

Instead of leaving Harbucks and heading home like he should have, like what he told Craig he was going to do, Kenny takes a sip of his drink and decides to do what he does best. He follows his instinct. Kenny's legs carry him over to the redhead's table, almost convincing himself that the table fell between him and the door anyway. He comes to a stop half a foot from the table and stares down at the other man. He'd been bothered by Kenny's laughter, but seemed unperturbed when Kenny stood directly over him. Or, he simply hadn't noticed Kenny; he did seem pretty engrossed in whatever that document on his laptop was.

"Whatcha workin' on?" Kenny questioned. His last assumption proved correct when the redhead took a page from Tweek's book and bodily flinched in surprise. Unfortunately, the man, not having as much practice as Tweek did in crashing into things when twitching, could not prevent his hand from knocking his mug off the table…

And onto Kenny. The sharp sensation of liquid that was not as cool as it looked hitting his crotch caused Kenny to hiss and tilt forward violently. Another unfortunate factor came in the form of gravity as it overcame the lid on Kenny's frappucino and cold coffee cascaded onto the keyboard of the redhead's laptop. A spark flew and the screen went dark. For a moment, the café remained silent and still in utter shock at what just occurred. Then, all hell broke loose. 

And that was where Kenny found himself now, with a smoking hot and flamingly furious redhead cussing him out about… a law thesis? All while Tweek must have been considering a million ways to abscond or whether or not he should call Craig, or the police. Kenny thinks that the police don't need to involve themselves in this, he's got this. He thinks. If he hadn’t gotten Tweek so keyed up with the gnome talk he wouldn't have to wonder. Damn gnomes, making Kenny insecure for no reason. 

"So? What've you got to say for yourself?" the redhead interrogates. 

Kenny snaps out of his gnome reverie and wonders, "Uhh, I wanted to get your number. Sorry I fucked up your laptop, you want me to get it fixed?"

The man buries his fingers in his ginger curls and scrubs, his eyes scrunched shut. His hands fly out and Kenny leans back, anticipating another swing, but the redhead gestures wildly in aggravation and embarrassment. Kenny notes he completely ignores Kenny wanting his phone number.

"Get it fixed? Get it fixed?! I need to turn in this thesis _today_ , I don't have time to get it fixed if anyone can even recover the files from this thing," he yells. Well that fucking sucked, Kenny thinks. Then he thinks some more.

"Then lets hit up a geek store and see if they can hack your thesis out of there. I've got nowhere to be, and you probably don't got nothing better to do," Kenny offered. The redhead seems to struggle with continuing to rage and also getting his computer fixed quickly. He settles on the latter.

A grunt, "I… may know a place. And," a grumble, his hand reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, "now that I'm thinking about it, my thesis is on a google doc. I can access it from the cloud while we get my laptop fixed."

Kenny doesn’t think he should feel as giddy as he does at the reference to "we", yet he does so he'll have to consider that later. Still, the redhead seems to run out of steam, which may have mostly been sleep-deprivation. Kenny glances over his shoulder to see Tweek silently twitching and cleaning the coffee machines. Good, Kenny thinks, he wouldn't want it on his conscious if he left here with Tweek a mess. Not to mention Craig would inevitably find out, kill him, and then Kenny wouldn't be able to look at him for a few days while he mentally recovered. 

Kenny turns back to the redhead, "Alright hot stuff, wipe off what you can and let's head out. You know what time this 'place' opens? We can throw some rice on that shit in the mean time."

The man flushes a bit at Kenny's nickname and shoves napkins all over the keyboard of the laptop. "It's Kyle. Not… It's Kyle," he corrects. "And it won't open for another three hours."

"My place is close by and I've got loads of rice. We can chill there," Kenny put forth the offer expecting rejection, especially since he mentioned chilling with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Instead, Kyle considers the offer with a pensive expression before sighing in resignation.

"Yeah. Okay. You're not going to kill me or anything are you?" he asks tiredly.

Kenny smirks and holds up a hand in salute, "I live with three other people, even if I wanted to murder your fine ass I'd never be able to do it without one of 'em waking up and bitching at me about the noise. Scouts honor, no killing, just chilling."

That manages to bring a small smile to Kyle's face. "Somehow I get the feeling you're not actually a scout," he jokes. 

With that, Kenny waves goodbye to Tweek, who jerkily waves in return, and like the goddamn gentleman he is, holds the door open for Kyle and his coffee-logged laptop. The part of Kenny that is not a gentleman, however, gets to appreciate the redhead's gifted ass as Kyle walks in front of him. While it doesn't last long, Kenny must lead the way to his own apartment after all, it allows Kenny to make another decision. He may have started on the wrong foot, but this man, Kyle, would be his. He just has to hope the gnomes don't try any funny stuff along the way.


	2. unimportant discrepancies and unacceptable snoozing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle notices things that probably don't matter and everyone needs sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I did it. I think I'm gonna try something where I'll finish two chapters before uploading one. Like, I won't post chapter 3 until I finish 3 and 4. That way even if I don't have the energy to write some time for some reason I've got something to shove out. Anyway, enjoy Kyle

A particularly sharp gust of wind sends the night chill straight to Kyle's bones. He shivers and hugs his laptop closer to his chest. Ah, yes, that reminds him. He looks over at the man beside him, wrapped up in a thick rust colored coat. Or is it burnt orange? The color shifts as they pass between street lights and Kyle gives up on discerning the shade. He should focus more on the fact that the destination the two shuffle through the snow toward is the stranger's home. Kyle's step stutters as that realization sinks in. In his frustration and panic to save his computer, he agreed to follow a random guy to who knows where. Come to think of it…

"I told you my name, but you never told me yours," Kyle points out as the two round a corner. The shorter man's face reads as slightly surprised before he breaks out in a wide grin.

"Ah, name's Kenny. Kenny McCormick," he supplies. His gaze seems somewhat expectant, as if Kyle should already know. Kyle nods slowly. Yes, he has, in fact, never seen nor heard of this man before in his life. 

"Then, Kenny, you said that your home was near here. Are we close? I'm freezing my ass off," he complains. Kenny mumbles something under his breath that Kyle swears is a comment on his ass. 

He does, however, respond by halting and about-facing a glass door to an upscale apartment loft. Kenny types in a code and holds the door open for Kyle just as he had when they left Harbucks earlier. Kyle awkwardly steps through the doorway then his shoulders slump at the soothing heat that seeps into him. Kyle supposes that answers his question and satisfies his earlier complaints. 

An awkward ride up the elevator, complete with cliché music, and Kenny opens the door to reveal a posh apartment. Kyle steps inside after Kenny, who removes his coat and places it on a set of hooks in the entryway. Not wanting to sit in his own coat in the heated apartment, Kyle follows his example. Kenny leads him into an open-concept living room and kitchen area. The awkward silence that entered the air when they stepped into the building still hovers and sticks to Kyle. He must admit, despite somewhat trusting that Kenny won't harm him - Tweek seemed to know Kenny and worst case could play witness should Kyle go missing - it still feels strange standing in the middle of a relative stranger's home, at half past five in the morning, no less. 

"Y'know, you can set your laptop on the island while I grab the rice. Probably be better than just standing there lookin' like a lost puppy," Kenny says with a teasing lilt in his voice. Kyle starts, then does as instructed. He's a bit struck by how quickly he falls into the easy-going pace of the blond. Speaking of blond, too engulfed in rage to notice before, Kyle finally notes the haphazard locks now that Kenny's hood doesn't obscure them. The other man disappears into a pantry, but Kyle still sees the way the overhead kitchen light catches in Kenny's hair, catalogs it unnecessarily. 

"Voila! Presto rice-o," Kenny exclaims as he exuberantly places an oven pan and a large bag of white rice in front of Kyle on the polished, black marble island. While Kenny sits himself in one of the many bar stools that surround the countertop, Kyle thanks him and sets about drying his laptop. After the uneventful burying of the computer in rice, Kyle sits across from Kenny and stares past him at the clock on the oven. 5:45. Fuck. The tech repair shop Stan works at wouldn't open until 8 o' clock. Kyle couldn't even text Stan to ask if he had the morning shift today because the clock read five fucking forty six now. Even if Stan did have the morning shift, he wouldn't roll out of bed until fifteen minutes before eight. Kyle sighs, feeling the weight of awkward silence bear down more heavily now that Kyle's laptop - and his thesis until he can get to another computer; he grits his teeth - rests under a blanket of useless white pellets. 

"You ever speak when you're not out of your mind angry?" Kenny questions, leaning forward across the island on crossed arms. Kyle snaps out of his thoughts and can't help but observe that the clock reveals only two extra minutes have elapsed since Kyle began his contemplations. 

"I do," Kyle said, furrowing his brows, "but forgive me for feeling a little uncomfortable sitting in a stranger's house before the sun's even risen."

Kenny's own eyebrows lift, "Never done the walk of shame then, I see."

"Wha-What? No! Why are you even - No," Kyle splutters. He shakes his head, not sure whether in denial of Kenny's suggestion or to clear his mind. He decides to change topics, something safer, less… intimate. "The repair shop I was talking about opens at eight. I need to turn in my thesis by five pm today, do you… do you have a computer I could borrow in the mean time?"

Kenny straightens up at the request, "Ah, yeah. Hold on a sec, hot stuff." He lazily stands and leaves Kyle alone and blushing furiously. He sighs again and pinches the bridge of his nose. Once he realizes he's doing so, however, his hand flies off of his face and halts halfway to the countertop. He stares at it for a moment, wondering idly if Stan picked up any of his dumb habits. The thought causes a smile to form gently on his face, his shoulders slumping a bit. He really hopes his super best friend has the morning shift; he needs a shoulder for the night he's had and the day he's going to have. The hand drops as Kyle hears more than sees the owner of the apartment reenter the room. Didn't he say he lives with people, Kyle thinks, what's he doing traipsing around like that?

"Alright, pretty boy, this is my personal computer, but today, she's all yours," Kenny announces, setting a surprisingly ancient laptop in front of Kyle. Kyle throws a half-hearted glare at Kenny for the nickname, but opens the machine and turns it on, anyway. 

"Thank you," Kyle says, because if his mother were here right now she'd kill him if he wasn't at least outwardly thankful to this man. On second thought, if his mother were here right now Kyle has no doubts that she would yell at him for even falling into this situation. His ears ring with unspoken scolding and his teeth clench under the invisible weight of the disapproving gaze she hasn't yet given him. Oh, why did he have to think of his mother?

Once the dinosaur that is Kenny's laptop starts up, and Kenny jams in a complicated and exhausting password at high velocity, Kyle has access to the internet. Kyle confirms that, yes, his thesis made it out of the coffee catastrophe and exists safely on a Google doc. A breath of relief escapes him. All is not lost. Four years in university, two years perfecting his thesis, he struggles to imagine how he would have survived had it truly been locked away in his coffee-soaked hard-drive. He cracks his knuckles and nods to Kenny, who simply nods back and turns to fall more so than sit on the plush couch.

Kyle quickly discovers that Kenny's keyboard requires a bit of force, and that each letter takes just a second longer than normal to appear on the screen than Kyle's own computer. Before Kyle can fully immerse himself in his thesis, he considers, for a moment, the discrepancies between Kenny, what he knows so far about Kenny from the man himself, and what he observes about Kenny on his own. Kyle is well past the point of doubting his safety in the penthouse, at least there's that. Then there's the kindness and familiarity with which the blond interacts with Kyle. If Kyle was honest with himself, his first encounter with the blond really only transpired poorly due to Kyle's surprise spurring a terrible chain reaction. Kenny had only helped Kyle afterwards in the short time that the two had known each other. Another strange thing: Kyle compared the expensive looking apartment with the piece of crap upon which he was meant to be typing his thesis. Kenny must split the rent in a strange manner for him to live in an upscale penthouse in downtown Denver but seemingly not be able to afford a better laptop. Kyle shook his head and let the movement travel down his shoulders to his arms and his hands. He could hear Stan's voice echoing in his head: "Chill, dude. Get your nose out of other people's business and focus on your own."

On that note, Kyle began working in earnest on his thesis. He'd spent the last two years compiling what he considers a compelling case on the legal efficacy and ethical integrity of international media censorship, primarily focusing on children's programming. Kyle knows his case studies inside and out, but reviews their files once more, twice more, searching for anything he could have missed that might poke holes in his work. He'd already found several, defended against them, made his case stronger. In reality, he completed his thesis about a week ago, but he couldn't stop himself from fussing and hemming and hawing at every detail, every word. Hell, this thesis wouldn't do him more than to get his pre-law degree so he could begin the training to become a _real_ lawyer. Yet Kyle is nothing if not a perfectionist and he'll be damned if he doesn't put his best foot forward when he formally begins law school. 

Kyle hears a soft snore and looks up from the old screen. Once again face to face with the oven clock he notes with a pleased smile that an hour and a half has come and gone. He could at least shoot Stan a text now, get a reply in about half an hour hopefully, and then he could see about fixing his relatively new laptop. Kyle logs off, shuts the computer down, temporarily satisfied with his editing. Another gentle noise emanates from the couch. Kyle stands, bends over to crack his spine in a few places, then meanders further into the living space. He peers over the side of the large couch to see Kenny draped gracelessly across a portion of it. Kyle grins, he may have an unusual amount of trust in this stranger, but Kenny fell asleep and left himself, his housemates, and his home completely open to Kyle. He's either stupid or naïve, or both, Kyle thinks. He figures he can allow Kenny the thirty minutes shut-eye before venturing out to the tech shop. Kyle takes a seat on the other end of the sofa, placing him a good distance from Kenny as the wrap-around takes up a good bit of the room. He pulls out his phone, sends that text to Stan, and opens up a mindless fremium game he hasn't maxxed out yet. His eyelids grow heavier and heavier with each tap at the silly pastime. Soon, his phone falls to the couch and his head falls against the cushion.

\--

The heavy scent and low sizzle of meat cooking rouse Kyle from his sleep. He smacks his mouth a few times, rubs at his eyes, wonders what time it is. His hazel eyes scan the room and widen when he takes in creamy, high-arched walls that differ greatly from those of his tan, cramped apartment. A few pieces of modern art hang from said walls and he glances down at the soft, dark couch he'd been snoozing on. He jolts up before remembering the events of the morning. Kyle looks over and slumps in relief when he sees Kenny still passed out on the other end of the furniture. That still begs the question of the source of breakfast, however. Kyle cautiously pulls himself up, turning to peer past the island into the kitchen area. His gaze meets the back of a blond clad in light blue ducky pajamas and a baby pink apron. Kyle clears his throat and the blond whirls. 

"Oh! G'morning to ya," the boy greets with a wide smile. Kyle hones in on a long, silvery scar running down the left side of his face, the glassy white of his left eye. If the blond notices Kyle staring, he says nothing of it.

"My name is Butters! Nice to meetcha. You stayin' for breakfast? Most of Kenny's friends don't stick around but I made pancakes an' eggs an' I'm frying up some bacon right now," Butters says amiably. Kyle raises a brow at the implication of Kenny and his numerous "friends". Still, Kyle could now smell the pancakes and follows the scent to a steaming plate almost half a foot high. His mouth waters.

"Um, hi. I'm Kyle. I don't think I'm the kind of friend you're thinking of, but I'd love some pancakes," Kyle makes sure to correct Butters, whom he assumes to be Kenny's housemate. Butters just smiles impossibly sweeter and sets up a plate of pancakes, adding eggs even though Kyle hadn't asked, and slides the plate to a place at the island. 

Kyle takes a seat and tentatively swipes the butter and spreads a light layer on his three pancakes. No syrup for him, a bit too much sugar all at once. He takes a bite and almost moans as the fluffy, buttery goodness nearly melts in his mouth. Butters asks him if he enjoys it, to which he vigorously nods with a full mouth. The blond chuckles and moves to take the bacon off the stove. He places the slices on a plate, allowing the grease to soak up in a paper towel. Once the bacon plate joins the pancake and egg plates on the island, Butters turns to the large, stainless steal refrigerator and pulls several bottles and cartons of juice out. Kyle watches silently as Butters prepares four plates with pancakes, eggs, and bacon and sets them around the island. His mouth still full of delicious pancakes, Kyle simply observes as Butters hums under his breath and pours a glass of apple juice, a glass of orange juice, and two glasses of milk before turning to Kyle expectantly. Kyle swallows.

"Uh, I'll have water, please, if you have it," he answers the unspoken question and Butters nods before filling a glass of water from the fridge and placing it in front of Kyle. 

"I'm fixin' to wake everyone up," Butters informs Kyle, "you look a little skiddish. Don't worry, we don't bite."

Kyle flushes a bit but doesn't bother to correct Butters this time. He's right after all, Kyle feels a bit of unease crawl up his spine at the thought of meeting not one, not two, but who knows how many people in the span of… wait a minute. Kyle looks up at the oven clock and nearly falls out of his chair. Shit, it's nearly noon! Kyle swivels 180 degress to see Butters gently shaking Kenny on the couch. Breathe in, breathe out, breath in, breathe out. Kyle continues breathing as Kenny stretches, stands, and seems to remember this morning when he locks eyes with Kyle. He smirks lopsidedly before noticing Kyle's distress. Butters wanders off, presumably to wake the remaining residents of the penthouse, while Kenny pads over to Kyle.

"Hey, hot stuff. What's wrong?" Kenny asks sleepily. Kyle says nothing but gestures pointedly at the clock. Kenny's blue eyes widen and dart back to Kyle's. "Oh shit, why didn't you wake me up? Did you get your thesis done?" Kyle somewhat appreciates the concern, but grimaces nonetheless at his own carelessness. 

"I got what I needed to get done completed, now I just need to get my computer fixed up and my thesis printed out. As for waking you up…I wanted to be nice and let you sleep. For going out of your way to fix things. Then I was too nice and let myself sleep," Kyle admits. 

"Oh, thanks," Kenny says softly. He stares at Kyle as if he's seeing something new in him. Kyle feels pressured under that azure gaze, like Kenny expects something of him, or more likely wants something from him. Kyle thinks that Kenny is puzzling. Kyle likes puzzles.

Whatever spell bound Kyle in that moment with Kenny breaks at the sound of a scream and a door slamming loudly. Both Kenny and Kyle start and turn to the source of the commotion. Butters sprawls in the hallway, moving to get up and rubbing his rear end. The door opposite the one Butters appears to have been shoved out of opens and a head of hair nearly the same shade of red as Kyle's pokes out.

"Who tried to wake up Craig?" a woman's voice groggily demands. The head leans further from the door and out steps a tall and voluptuous woman in nothing but black lacy underwear. Kyle's face soon matches his hair and he averts his eyes.

"I just wanted us to have breakfast together since we're back home…" Butters says lamely and Kyle glances up to watch the boy bodily droop. The woman clicks her tongue and looks over into the living area. Her eyes catch on Kyle and she trudges back into her room. She does not exit the conversation, though.

"Butters, you've known that baby for how long? And you thought you could just 'wake-y wake-y, eggs and bac-ey' his ass? I'm afraid you brought that on yourself, little man," the woman intones with a hint of exasperated fondness. She reemerges dressed in a baggy t-shirt and shorts. Kyle feels eternally grateful that she seems to have clothed herself for the guest's sake. She steps over to the other door and lifts a long leg. Kyle flinches as the other redhead proceeds to kick at the door until it swings open. The woman strides inside and the sounds of a scuffle ensue. She walks back out of the room dragging another tall person behind her by his ear. Kyle guesses this must be Craig.

"Fucking shit, Red, I told Butters I don't want any damn food! I want sleep," Craig exclaims angrily. "Red", unbothered by the vitriol that continues to spew out of the man's mouth, leads him into the living area. He stops cursing when he notices Kyle.

"Ken, you said you were going for coffee, what the fuck," Craig's voice drops from its already low register to a deep monotone that oozes incredulity and annoyance.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Kenny waves his hands in a placating gesture, "you guys all misunderstand. I'm being a good samaritan, righting the wrongs I've committed. Kyle here," Kenny puts an arm around Kyle's shoulder and Kyle honestly doesn't know what the fuck is going on, "fell victim to my charms, and then his laptop fell victim to my coffee. So I'm just tryna help him fix his computer, that's all."

The three others look at Kenny, look at each other. Their eyes flicker to Kenny's arm around Kyle's shoulder, Kyle's stiffness. They then share a look amongst one another that Kyle feels a bit insulted by. The first to recover seems to be Red.

"Well I'll be. Ken, are you growing up or what? I knew I raised you right," she slinks over and pulls Kenny off of Kyle and into a noogie. Kenny laughs and the awkward tension that Kyle had previously been unaware of dispels. Still, Kyle feels that there's still an undercurrent of misunderstanding that he can't quite place. 

Craig shuffles over to one of the plates with a glass of milk and tucks in. Butters smiles again and nearly skips over to ruffle Kenny's hair once Red releases him from her grasp. Red takes the other plate with milk and Kenny sits next to Kyle and the plate with orange juice. Once Butters climbs up onto a bar stool Kyle feels like a partner come to meet the family. He allows conversation to flow above and around him as he continues to enjoy the orgasmic breakfast Butters made. He politely declines any bacon and places his dishes in the sink at Butters' insistence that the shorter blond would clean up. Once Kenny finishes his own breakfast, he locates Kyle's laptop, still buried in rice. He wipes off the grains and hands it to Kyle, who notes with a pleased expression that the keyboard isn't nearly as sticky as he'd worried it would be.

The two shrug back into their coats and boots in the entryway. Kenny yells goodbye to his housemates and Kyle waves shyly before the two head out. Kyle pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks his messages.

>   
>  \- Me: Hey dude are you working morning today? It's important [6:33 AM]  
>  \- SBF: dude wtf why r u up so early? no im workin 12-5 [9:46 AM]  
>  \- SBF: dude? [10:03 AM]  
>  \- SBF: uhh kyle? [10:15 AM]  
>  \- SBF: pls tell me u didn’t need help w ur phone or smth [10:47 AM]  
>  \- SBF: kyle… im goin into work… show up if u need help [11:55 AM]  
>  \- SBF: or just text me back [11:55 AM]  
> 

Kyle groans, "Shit."

Kenny looks over and smiles reassuringly, "Hey, don't worry, we'll get your computer fixed." Kyle smiles back on reflex. That hadn't been what he groaned for, but Kyle found Kenny's efforts endearing. Kenny grins wider, pleased by having cheered Kyle up. "Now, let's find us a tech shop."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may take longer to write some chapters but it's probably because I'm researching or solidifying plot concepts. I've got an idea of where I wanna take this story and it's fucking long but I think it's worth it. End chapter notes may include me geeking out over whatever lore I didn't get to include in the chapter/work. This chapter took this long because I wrote a whole ass outline to this story and filled it with an absurd amount of headcanons and canon lore. Anyway, next time: Kyle and Kenny encounter Stan the man and his magical hands ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> P.S. I wonder if anyone can pick up on what Kyle's law thesis is referencing... 
> 
> P.P.S. This is sort of a song fic, btw, we just haven't really gotten to the music just yet


	3. tech repairs and dubious dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny and Kyle visit a repair shop, plan a real coffee date, and Stan adjusts to meeting his idol as you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The holiday had me with less time to write, but more time to plan. The outline, she is bigger. The characters, they are more fleshed out. The chapters, they are still the same. Also, people need to not set off fireworks in the middle of the night, it freaks my cat out.

Stan fidgets at his workstation. He resists the temptation to check his phone for the fourth time in the last few minutes. He'd clocked in half an hour ago and Kyle still hasn't texted him back. Kyle could be without his phone, lost somewhere or unable to contact anyone. Kyle could be dead for all Stan knew. Oh shit, Kyle's thesis is due today; what if he couldn't turn it in? Oh God that would be even worse. Stan ran a hand through his hair, lamenting the restriction on hats that his job has. For now all he can do is wait and see if his super best friend shows up. 

Another fifteen minutes that feels like an eternity passes and Stan has put his head down onto his arms on the help desk. He perks up as the door bell rings, signaling a customer. It's been pretty slow for a Monday afternoon, and Stan is glad for the distraction from his own thoughts. Luckily for Stan's sanity, the one that walks through the door is none other than his redheaded best friend. Stan could cry, he does not. He's at his job, he must be professional. 

"Kyle! You're alive," Stan exclaims, remembers something and continues, "how's your thesis?"

"Of course I'm alive, Stan. I can't say the same for my computer though…" Kyle says and places his laptop on the help desk. Stan looks down, noticing the smell of coffee and how Kyle's fingers stick a bit to the sides as he removes them. Stan puts the pieces together in his mind.

"Kyle… were you at Harbucks at six in the morning working on your thesis," Stan asks in an unimpressed monotone. Kyle's guilty look says it all. Stan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Dude, how did you even manage to spill coffee all over your computer? You're usually more careful than that."

Kyle sags a bit, "Look, Stan, it wasn't even really me. I mean, it was, but it also wasn't. There was an accident and some guy made me spill coffee on my keyboard. I saw a spark and then my computer shut down. The guy had me put it in some rice and then… and then we came over here. Just, can you fix it? Or get the files off it?" 

Stan takes a moment to process. He latches on to the most pressing part of Kyle's explanation, "The guy came here with you? Where's he now?"

Kyle jerks his head behind him to the glass windows at the front of the small tech shop. An average-looking blond man stands facing the street with a phone pressed to his ear. Stan nods in understanding, his mouth parted as he still considers the situation. He turns back to Kyle and levels him with a curious stare. Kyle does nothing to suppress Stan's interest as a light flush spreads across his face. 

"He gonna pay?" Stan gestures to the man. Kyle shrugs. Unhelpful. Stan continues, "Kyle… you were with this guy for six hours until I came into work. And didn't answer your phone. And came in late for my shift after texting me that this was important. And you're still in your pajamas from when we hung out last night. Is there anything else you wanna tell me before he's done on the phone?" Kyle's face shifted during Stan's run-down so that his complexion now matched his hair. He looks down at his attire and shrinks. Then the redhead looks up and shakes his head furiously, waving his hands around his face.

"Stan, I promise it's not what you think. I was working on my thesis at Harbucks and this guy walks up to me and startles the crap out of me. I spill my coffee and he offers to get it fixed," Kyle explains, "But, of course, it's fucking fi - uh - six in the morning," Stan catches the slip-up, but he won't press it, at least right now, "So we go back to his place. And before you say anything, literally all that happened was we put my laptop in some rice and passed out on his couch. When both of us woke up, we ate breakfast and came right over here."

After Kyle finishes, Stan rests his chin on his clasped hands, elbows on the desk. He closes his eyes for a moment and wonders how he ended up here, in this moment, right now. The only word he can use to respond to that currently is a single and all-encompassing: " _Kyle_." Kyle's silence tells him that his friend agrees with his assessment.

Stan opens his eyes when the door bell rings once more. He promptly freaks the fuck out. He flails, quite spectacularly he must say, and grabs hold of Kyle's collar to yank him closer to Stan.

"Kyle, what the _fuck_?! You didn't tell me the guy who spilled coffee on your laptop was fucking Kenny! Kenny from MOOP," Stan whispers with a great amount of emotion. Many of those emotions resemble anger and frustration with Kyle and his ostrich-head attitude to pop-culture, but a great deal of them also include excitement and mortification at meeting one of his idols while wearing a scratchy, yellow polo shirt. 

Kyle seems startled, but returns with, "Well excuse me for not realizing I met one of the many people who give you a fangasm, dude."

"Kyle! He's not some indie band I found on SoundCloud, his songs are all over the radio. He must've just gotten back from his tour. Seriously, how did you not know who this guy was," Stan cannot believe Kyle sometimes. The interrogation comes to a halt once the two realize that the man in question stands a few feet away in confusion.

"Everything okay, Kyle? Is that Stan," Kenny asks concernedly. My God, Stan thinks, his voice is just as beautiful speaking in person as it is on the internet in interview videos. Stan often likens it to the lovechild of an angel's ballad and a smoker's rasp. Kyle gently pries Stan's hand off of his shirt and straightens up. Stan jerks up and smiles crookedly. To complete the image of embarrassment Stan laughs awkwardly and makes uncomfortable eye contact with Kyle to avoid looking at Kenny. Oh, this is going to suck so hard.

\--

Kenny shifts his gaze between Kyle and his friend, who, if he's honest, looks an inch away from a nervous breakdown. The disparity between the reaction Kyle gave when Kenny introduced himself and Kenny simply stepping foot in this locally owned tech shop is baffling. Kenny still occasionally feels a bit of mental whiplash that must come with the early stages of fame. Some people scream once they catch sight of him while others have never known of his existence until he details it to them. It might be his first time experiencing the two extremes in one room, though.

He contemplates repeating his question, but Kyle angrily whispers something to the black haired man behind the help desk. The redhead smacks his shoulder and the man snaps out of whatever haze had clouded him before. He offers a shaky smile and an even shakier hand to Kenny.

"Hi, n-nice to meet you. _Very_ nice to meet you. I'm Kyle's best friend, Stan, and, uh, I'm a huge fan of your work," he introduces, or extols, whatever. Kenny shakes his hand; he's got a solid hand shake, if not a little sweaty, though the blond attributes that to stress. There's a slight discomfort Kenny feels at the notion that his presence could move people this much. He wants to ease Stan as quickly as possible.

"Thanks, dude, it's nice to meet you, too," Kenny says warmly. He smiles reassuringly with teeth, but Stan's eyes only widen and he stiffens further. Dammit, Kenny wonders what to do, while Kyle already seems fed up with the interaction unfolding. His brow crinkles in irritation.

"So, Stan, do you think you can fix my computer? Or at least get the files… I've got some pictures on there I kinda want," Kyle presses. He crosses his arms, posture radiating impatience and temerity. Kenny feels unfairly aroused by the chutzpah this man emits.

"Chill, dude, lemme see what I can do. I haven't even seen the damage yet," Stan placates. As he begins to examine the laptop, Kenny notes that his demeanor shifts to one of pure concentration. The blond respects the ability to focus so single-mindedly on something of interest. God knows Kenny often has trouble with that skill.

In the meantime Kenny shoves his hands in his coat pockets and tilts his head toward Kyle. Auburn curls battle for dominance on top of the man's head, the sides buzzed so short that the hairs have no chance to curl yet. Kenny observes equally maintained sideburns, but darker stubble on Kyle's angular jaw. The blond idly wonder if that means the carpets don't match the drapes. That thought belongs in a different setting, however, so Kenny stores it for later. He refocuses on the pronounced features of Kyle's face: the sharp outward curve of his nose, the bold slopes of his cheeks, the strong eyebrows that express every thought, the commanding depth of his eyes, the cold-bitten pink of his lips. Alright, Kenny can admit when he finds someone attractive, and the more time he got to take in the redhead, the more he realizes he wants Kyle in his bed. He opens his mouth, though he's not quite sure what he intends to say. Thankfully, Stan interrupts before Kenny can fill his open mouth with his foot. 

"Okay, so, good news and bad news. Which do you want first," Stan finishes his analysis and plants both hands on the counter. Kyle grimaces and indicates his preference for the latter.

Stan nods, "So, bad news, your computer is definitely shot. It'd be one thing if it was water, but it looks like the same thing I've seen on computers that got soda dumped on them. The coffee can't really be cleaned enough to the point that turning the computer on again wouldn't just fry it with burning sugary shit." 

Kenny winces. Kyle frowns deeper, waves his hand to drag the good news out of Stan.

"But! I can get your files out. I just have to pull out the hard drive and transfer the memory with a functioning computer. We pull the files, put 'em on a portable hard drive. Again, same thing I do for when someone gets a soda dropped on their laptop," Stan explains. Kyle sighs in relief at this and Kenny, too, feels some of his guilt ease. 

"Cool, cool. How long'll that take," Kyle inquires. Stan inspects the computer once more, turns it over, hums. 

"Probably about fifteen minutes? All I've gotta do is unscrew a few things, unhook a few wires, maybe wipe down the hard drive so it's not sticky… Yeah. Yeah, I'm thinkin' about fifteen minutes," Stan posits. He moves over and slides a drawer out of his desk, removing a toolbox. He looks up at Kyle and Kenny and the latter notices the striking electric blue of Stan's eyes. 

"Dude, anyone ever tell you your eyes are gorgeous? They've got this lightning in a snow storm kinda look," Kenny says casually. 

Stan flushes, "U-uh, no, no one's told me that before. Thanks, though?"

Kenny simply smiles. He usually has minimal filter when it comes to complements. He's just doing his civic duty informing people of their own beauty. He glances briefly at Kyle, who appears almost as nonplussed by the comment as Stan had. Now, why can't he just tell Kyle in an eloquent manner that he wants to jump his pretty bones? A truly perplexing situation.

"Just callin' it like I see it," Kenny intones lightly, before he thinks of some pertinent information and holds a hand up to snap in enlightenment, "Oh, hey, whenever you ring up whatever you're doing, I'm paying."

Stan nods, still out of it after getting told by a famous person that his eyes were gorgeous, "Gotcha."

Kyle, on the other hand, seems lost in contemplation. Kenny wonders if Kyle might've gotten it in his head that Kenny simply tagged along and didn't plan on actually making good on his promise to fix the computer. The blond supposes that perhaps what Stan is now in the middle of doing isn't exactly fixing the laptop per say, but Kenny will be damned if he lets Kyle pay for what may turn into a first date. Just as Kenny thought, Kyle grabs his coat sleeve and pulls him over to the other end of the store to talk in private.

"Kenny, you don't… I appreciate it, but… I really don't know if I feel comfortable with-," Kyle seems at a loss for what to say, pain and unease written on his face, but Kenny gets the gist of it. 

"Look, I told you I'd fix your computer. If that means footing the bill for getting your files back, so be it," Kenny chuckles, "I'm a bit surprised you're not just letting me." Kyle's face shifts into something dangerous. Kenny isn't sure why, but he makes sure to follow up with, "Besides, if I'm gonna keep up the gentleman act, I can't let you pay for the first date." He adds a wink for good measure.

The expression Kyle wore relaxes a bit, "Oh. Well. I, thank you, I suppose. I'm… not sure if I would count this," he gestures vaguely around them, "as a date, though."

Kenny smirks, "Does that mean I can take you on an actual date?" At Kenny's question, Kyle seems to realize the tone that the conversation has taken on and puffs up self-consciously. 

"I mean, well. Not today," Kyle looks to the side and wraps his arms around himself, "because of my thesis. But, um," this time his eyes shift over to the desk Stan works at and his brows pinch together, "I guess, that we can go out on Saturday, yeah?"

"Sure, maybe we can redo that coffee date. I promise coffee will remain in the cups at all times until we can drink it," Kenny offers. Internally, he whoops and does a little dance that would be nothing short of mortifying if done in public. He'll do it when he gets home. 

Kyle finally makes eye contact with Kenny and lowers his arms. Kenny thinks he's never seen eyes like Kyle's before. The buzzing lights of the tech shop brought out the green in his irises, but Kenny could swear that this morning and on their way here they looked almost like molten gold. Kyle smiles softly and the corners of those captivating eyes crinkle just so.

"Okay, that sounds nice. I won't bring my laptop, so that'll take out some of the variables," Kyle jokes. He realizes something and rummages around his pocket until he pulls out his phone. He taps out his passcode and opens an app before turning the phone to Kenny. "Here," he says, "so that you can let me know when and where this'll happen."

Kenny carefully takes the phone, his fingers brushing Kyle's. He adds his number to Kyle's contacts and sends himself a text, ensuring that he has Kyle's number as well. He hands the phone back to the other man and then the two stand a tad awkwardly in the store. Luckily for Kenny, Kyle takes the initiative and leads the blond back over to Stan's help desk. 

"Any updates, Stan," Kyle queries. The black haired man peers over from where he now stands next to a desktop. Kenny can see from where he stands that Stan must have already pulled the hard drive from Kyle's laptop.

"Ah, it's taking a minute for the files to transfer, but it's going smoothly overall," Stan explains. He glances back to the computer screen before turning back to the other two. His gaze flits between them, he inhales deeply, and places his hands on the counter, shoulders hiked up to his ears.

"So. Kyle tells me you spilled coffee on his laptop at six in the morning," Stan begins. A groan leaves Kyle's throat and Kenny stores that sound in the same way he stored Kyle's face earlier.

"Stan, no interrogations. Kenny's going to tell you the same story I did, anyway," Kyle chides. Kenny does have a detail that Stan's got wrong, however.

"Kyle's not wrong. You are, though, because it was more like half past four when I tried to say hi and got a crotch-full of café americano. I would remember, because I'm still always shocked that Harbucks opens that early," Kenny corrects, leaning back on his heels. 

This information causes Stan to level Kyle with a stare that Kenny feels is most distinctly maternal and disapproving. At Kyle's brief glare, Kenny realizes he may have just lost some potential boyfriend points by outing Kyle's early start. 

"Man, I know you wanna do well on your thesis but you can't have it killing you," Stan scolds. He turns his gaze to Kenny and thinks, "Then again, it did sort of cause you to meet a celebrity. Just don't make a habit of it."

Kenny preens at the label of celebrity. Kyle, meanwhile, runs a hand through his hair with a look that bears all the frustration in the world. A beep emits from the desktop behind Stan and the tech man moves to see what it is. 

"Well, it looks like the transfer is all done," Stan clicks away for a few seconds before removing a smaller hard drive from one of the USB ports. He hands it to Kyle, "Here you go. Should be everything. You still need a new computer, but at least all wasn't lost."

"Thanks, Stan," Kyle says fondly. Kenny asks Stan for the bill and pulls out his wallet. Kyle stands beside Kenny during the whole transaction fidgeting and shifting on his feet. Once all is complete, the two bid goodbye to Stan, Kenny promising that they'll all share a beer sometime to Stan's joy, and exit the shop. The two walk down the street for a solid minute before realizing that neither of them have a destination in mind.

"I can walk you home," Kenny offers. Another smile curves on Kyle's lips and he nods. 

The two exchange playful banter and a few jokes before they arrive at the apartment complex Kyle calls home. Kyle pauses at the front entrance then turns to Kenny with a fond expression.

"You know, I think I take back what I said earlier. This was probably the most interesting first date I've ever been on," he comments lightly. At Kenny's silence he continues, "I'll text you later, let's try to make the next one a less destructive kind of interesting, yeah?" He sidles inside before Kenny can recover himself enough to voice his agreement.

Kenny turns away from the door and, looking down, brings a hand up to his face, drags it down across his mouth and jaw. His head tilts back up and he lets out a gleeful laugh before setting off for his own apartment. Yeah, Kenny can do interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: chapter four will come out some time next week, I'm gonna experiment with the post-timer since I'm heading to an orientation next week. Second: Why is Stan hard to write??? Third: So I know fanon generally has Kyle with like, emeralds in his skull where his eyes should be, and don't get me wrong, some redheads really have those eyes, but I think it's more interesting to have hazel eyes since they shift more in different light. Especially since in an episode in Season 2, Kyle had a brown beard in the Evilverse, but had a red 'face warmer' beard in Cartman's Incredible Gift, and had brown eyes in Good Times with Weapons, but so did Kenny and Kenny has blue eyes. Anyway, canon is so confusing because continuity gets blurry for a show that's been on for 21 seasons. So, this Kyle has naturally red hair, a darker auburn beard, and hazel eyes, so that I can have the best out of all of it. Also, I'm trying to navigate the minefield of etiquette for paying for other people and how Kenny's poverty-turned-fame would affect his perspective  
> tl;dr: I'm a fucking obsessive nerd
> 
> Also, Stan is a total mega-fan of MOOP. He's going to go home and scream into his pillow that Kenny wants to have a beer with him, just letting y'all know. See y'all next chapter with a surprise
> 
> The first song of this fic is "we've never met but can we have a coffee or something" and here's the link to the 20 minute version that I listened to while writing the first three chapters: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BeI6an1Fy6E  
> I envisioned it as something that maybe Kenny or Red cooked up on Red's synth machine that made it onto a deluxe version of their first album; it's very ASMR


	4. open doors and uncrossed thresholds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a trip down memory lane as Kenny remembers that he can walk through the doors he opens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... funny story... college orientation was an adventure. Let's just say that it's now on my official medical file that I've torn my ACL playing Quidditch. 
> 
> Anyway, the reason this chapter even came out today instead of later this week is because of Townycod13 and the other encouraging comments I've received. Thank you, and enjoy lil Kenny

"Get off the couch, you drunk piece of shit!"

Kenny rouses slightly, blinking sleep out of his eyes. He doesn't have an alarm clock, but it's not like he needs one with the clockwork hollering that echoes into his room each morning. He sits up and hears his mother's screech through the thin walls of their flimsy home. 

"If y'don't make yer shift this week yer gonna get fired again and then we won't have food money!"

"Shut up, bitch! I'm goin', I'm goin'," replies Kenny's father before sounds of a scuffle ensue and a door slams. 

Kenny swings his legs over the side of his bed and plants his feet on the floor. His sock-clad feet hit the floor early and his knees scrunch up to his chest; his bed is just a musty mattress on the stained carpet, after all. Kenny scrubs a hand through his greasy, blond locks then pulls himself up. He shrugs into his parka, his pants already on, and toes into ratty converse sneakers. Arms stretch over his head and a satisfying yawn escapes him. His dad's current job is at a nearby gas station and his shift usually starts at eight in the morning. Kenny figures he should go wake up Karen and Kevin and see if his mom has anything to make for breakfast.

Trudging out of his room and down the hall, he taps the back of his knuckles against a door only partially on its hinges. Two pieces of paper decorate the outside, one with soccer ball stickers and a loud, blocky "KEVIN", the other with butterflies and a more delicate "Karen". After the courtesy knock, he enters the room and finds his two siblings still asleep as expected. A smile gently curls onto Kenny's face and he moves to wake his siblings. 

"Kare-bear, mom's makin' Poptarts. Time to get up," Kenny places a hand on his younger sister's shoulder and softly shakes her. Karen jolts before relaxing and sitting up in bed. One side of her soft, dishwater blonde hair sticks to the side of her face while the locks on the other side radiate wildly in multiple directions. Kenny laughs and ruffles a hand through her hair, then turns to rouse Kevin.

His older brother poses a more difficult task for Kenny. The blond begins by calling out Kevin's name and walking over to his bed. Next he lightly kicks the bed frame - Kenny's bed is the only one in the house without one, the price for having his own room - and knocks on Kevin's bedside table. He curses his lack of forethought to get a glass of water and an ibuprofen, but channeling Captain Hindsight won't do any good now. 

"Kev, y'gotta go to school today or ma's gonna tell dad," Kenny admonishes. The pile of sheets stirs and the blond moves closer. He shakes what he thinks is Kevin's shoulder and jumps back when the sheets fly up into the air. They settle haphazardly over his older brother's form and Kevin's arm slaps across his eyes. 

"Why won't the light just shut up?" he groans, scratching at his tangled, light chestnut hair. He, too, sits up in bed, if a little slower than Karen. His hangover doesn't seem as bad as usual, so Kenny counts this morning as a win and sends a smile Karen's way before heading to the kitchen.

His nose can already detect the scent of slightly burnt Poptarts. Well, not exactly on-brand toaster pastries, but Kenny knows that a box of those sits in one of their cabinets for special occasions. Still, Kenny inhales the cloying air of strawberry and crunchy icing that wafts from the plate on the dining room table. He scoots into a seat and breaks one of the pastries in half. The other goes back on the plate for Karen. His mother sits across the table from Kenny, munching on her half of the Poptart she shares with Kevin. 

"Mornin', ma. Y'sleep well?" Kenny greets. His mother simply shrugs and pushes a plastic cup toward her son. Kenny gratefully takes it and sips at the tap water. First Karen, then a few minutes later, Kevin, join them at the rickety table. Kevin rubs at his forehead, eyes closed and brows pinched together. If their mom hadn't yelled herself silly earlier at their dad, Kevin would surely be earning his own earful for the bender he'd gone on last night. At this point, Kenny thinks that his mother only has enough energy to yell at one person anymore. Kenny generally picks up her slack, even if it's actually Mysterion doing the scolding. 

Kenny waits until Karen finishes her breakfast and brushes her teeth. Then he moves to the front door and holds his hand out to her. Kevin doesn't start school as early as they do, if he even goes today. His sister pulls on her backpack, Kenny's own back is bare. His hand encloses around her little fingers and they venture out into their yard. Their path takes them across the railroad tracks, past their random neighbor, down the main street, and up the road to the elementary school. Kenny squeezes Karen in a loving hug, then he pats her back and sends her inside. A frown weighs down the easy smile he'd worn earlier.

He turns and trudges further up the street until he reaches the middle school. The door feels heavy as he pushes it open and shuffles inside. It's not that he doesn't enjoy learning, on the contrary, Kenny has probably made more use of the school and public library than any other citizen in South Park. Kenny just doesn't enjoy--

"Ay! Po' boy, weren't you wearing that yesterday? And the day before that? You got any other trash clothes or is your momma so poor she dresses you in yer only set of sheets?" the grating drawl reaches Kenny's ears before the shove connects with his shoulder. Kenny is more than used to Cartman's disgusting words and deplorable behavior, so he stands his ground with relative ease. No anti-bullying strategy works with Cartman, but Kenny can at least maintain his status as the bigger person. 

"Don't ignore me you poor piece of shit. I asked you a question, or are you so dumb you can't understand," Cartman mocks. He stand a few inches taller than Kenny and he lords each one over Kenny's head, stance wide with his pudgy fingers against his hips. Kenny simply shakes his head and walks away toward first period. He has a test in algebra today and no time to engage Eric Cartman in his games. Luckily, Cartman seems to let it go for now, and Kenny makes it to class on time. He steels himself and stops at the teacher's desk.

"Mr. Harden, may I have a pencil for the class period?" Kenny politely requests. He stops himself from cringing as his teacher hands him the pencil with a pitying look. Kenny hates that look from the very bottom of his being; he wishes he could scream in people's faces when their eyes take on that glossy sheen and their brows pull together as if to say 'oh you poor thing'. Kenny takes the pencil and goes to his chair. The algebra test throws many punches Kenny's way, numbers aren't his strong suit. When Kenny hands over the test and the pencil when the bell rings though, he feels confident that he at least made a passing grade. Judging by the dejected looks on his peers' faces, he cannot say the same for their test scores. 

The morning elapses as usual with Cartman being a huge dick between classes and Kenny avoiding any and all sympathy. Lunch rolls around and Kenny hopes that Karen finds the PB&J Kenny slipped into her bag this morning. Meanwhile, Kenny heads to the library to fill up on water from the fountains and knowledge from the books. The librarian nods to him as he enters. They have a connection, a special relationship: the old lady doesn't give Kenny any sad looks or patronizing coos, and Kenny turns in his books on time and occasionally organizes the returns for her. 

The questionable couches in the corner make the perfect reading nook for Kenny. His most recent book attempts to teach him the finer points of Mandarin. Kenny is honestly impressed that the South Park middle school has such a reference book, but he doesn't question it too much. With each chapter on intonation and grammar, Kenny mentally cross-references the examples with memories of Mr. Liu Kim shouting orders at City Wok. His throat molds around tones and he thinks he's got the difference between "mother" and "horse" finally. 

Kenny nearly screams when the weight distribution of the couch shifts suddenly. Startled, Kenny looks over to see none other than Craig Tucker sitting next to him. If Cartman had a few inches on Kenny, then Craig must stand almost a foot taller. The Tucker boy somehow took after his parent's height despite everyone in South Park being privy to the fact that Craig was adopted. Kenny certainly can't talk about family situations, though. Neither Craig's height nor his familial status explain his decision to join Kenny on one of the three couches in this corner of the library. Craig's slate eyes bore into Kenny.

"Hey," Craig intones almost bored.

"Hey," Kenny replies, strangely bemused.

Silence settles between them and their eye contact becomes increasingly awkward the longer they let those "hey"s float around aimlessly. Kenny breaks first.

"Uh, you feelin' lonely or something? There's two other couches, y'know?" Kenny prods. Craig sighs deeply, as if Kenny is the one who brought this uncomfortable atmosphere to the lunchtime paradise the blond cherished. 

"I heard that you're trying to get a band together," Craig says, apropos of nothing. Though, Kenny supposes, that does sort of answer why Tucker might be here. The rumors are true: Kenny grew tired of slamming away at old butter tubs and cardboard boxes, and so he scraped together enough money for a used drum kit. The only other "member" of his "band" is Leo, though. Leo hasn't even picked an instrument to play, so Kenny feels hesitant to call it a band right now. He nods to confirm Craig's statement, regardless.

"You need a guitarist?" Craig asks, nonchalant. Kenny cannot say he expected that. Still, he knows the answer.

"Yeah, we need everything but a drummer," Kenny responds, failing at mirroring the casual demeanor Craig exudes. Craig nods slowly and stands from the couch. He turns to fully face Kenny and inclines his head.

"Well, now you've got a guitarist. I'm free after school and on Saturday afternoons, let me know when you practice. Later," Craig waves his hand lazily and saunters away. Kenny tries to make sense of the encounter and only comes up with a slightly more defined idea of his "band". In less than five minutes Kenny now has another person willing to play music with him, and he has to come to terms that his band gains tangibility by the day. 

After an eventful lunch, Kenny's spirits soar high all throughout afternoon classes. Normally, he took great joy in his English classes, but today his worksheet fills with lyrics and his joy transforms to elation. Kenny saves his dignity and his second most prized possession for these moments, and scrawls word after word with a fancy, metal pen. He found it - scraped and dulled, but full of ink - by the tracks one day, and from it flows all of Kenny's musical and lyrical magic. After the bell rings to signal the end of the last class, Kenny slips his pen into his pocket and commits his new creations to memory. 

Kenny very nearly skips out of the school building. He's got a shift at City Wok in half an hour, so he swings by the elementary school to see Karen off. As they walk, Karen regales Kenny of her school day. He's pleased that she enjoyed her sandwich and that she's on her way to her friend's house after this. Kenny always prefers Karen out of the house when he isn't there. Once they reach City Wok, Kenny promises to bring home any unsold or burnt City Chicken. Karen smiles with teeth and lives Kenny's dream of skipping off down the street. 

Inside the Asian restaurant, Mr. Liu Kim greets him and shoves a used rag and unlabeled bottle of cleaner into his hands. The thirteen year old never complains about any tasks assigned to him. Mr. Liu Kim is kind enough, or dumb enough, to not ask questions and simply pay Kenny under the table every week. If anything, working illegally helps prevent Kenny's paychecks from reading "Dennis". Kenny sets to work scrubbing at the tables before his boss then instructs him to get behind the counter and help fry up some City Dumplings. It is there, by the fryers, that things go terribly wrong. Mr. Liu Kim has his hands full at the register and buffet line, so Kenny must man the kitchen by himself. A simple misstep, Kenny might've tapped the fryer handle too hard, he might've pulled a cord out into a puddle, all Kenny knows is that he now lies on the dirty floor of the City Wok kitchen, his consciousness and his heartbeat rapidly fading. 

"Dennis! You can't die on me, you fool! I can't have nobody suing me," Mr. Liu Kim shouts and shakes Kenny's frail body. Kenny knows though, that he is dying. Darkness encroaches upon his vision and his hearing dulls at the edges. His breathing rips through him raggedly and he clutches limply at his apron. As Kenny inhales one last time he thinks that Karen and the rest of his family won't get to eat dinner tonight thanks to his blunder. Kenny hates breaking promises. He exhales, and is gone.

\--

Kenny bolts upright in bed, panting. His eyes dart about frantically before he realizes his memories had bled into his dreams. Kenny runs a hand through sweat-soaked locks, frustration overcoming any residual panic. It's been a while since he dreamt of any of his deaths. He swings his legs over the side of his bed and slowly stands. His feet lead him to the kitchen where he pulls out a glass and fills it with water. He chugs it and leaves the glass on the counter when he returns to his room. No siblings to wake, he reminds himself. No need to worry about meals, he assures. No more Cartman and no more pitying looks, he asserts. 

Pulling the sheets back over himself, Kenny wonders why that particular death made its way to the forefront of his mind tonight. The only thing that stuck out to him was his interaction with Craig. After that day, Craig melded into the essence of the band, and, later, brought Red with him. That day had opened a door for Kenny that he thought he'd have to pry open himself. His band fell together unlike anything in Kenny's life, even if it still required immense dedication and work. Kenny ponders if it means anything. Then Kenny thinks of Kyle. The blond knows that they're getting coffee soon, but he still finds himself unexpectedly eager to see the other man. Perhaps another door is opening for Kenny.

That must be it, Kenny thinks. Kenny often holds himself back from the things that he wants, he must acknowledge. Over the years, and with the help of MOOP and others, he's learned to push back against his hesitance to take instead of give. He feels warmth blossom in his chest, a small fire kindling in its infancy. Kenny might just use this death as another push. A smile curls on his lips and he stretches his arms above and behind his head. Alright, universe, he thinks, message received: it's time to go for what he wants. He'll cross this new threshold, whatever it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so, longer note. Yeah I was planning on cranking out a chapter or two this week and then tragedy struck. Both good news and bad news: I can't walk. Bad: it fucking sucks. Good: I have plenty of time to write, now. Expect updates soon
> 
> Lore time: I'm fascinated with the family dynamics in South Park. I love Kenny's obvious dedication to being a good brother to Karen, and I always felt Kevin followed more in their dad's footsteps. I want to explore their relationship as siblings more, and I will. Also, adopted Craig was something I read in a different fic that resonated with me, especially with Craig's black hair in a family of blondes and gingers. 
> 
> I wanted an intermission chapter so I could get my shit together for Kenny and Kyle's first real date. I hope it was entertaining even if it's a little short. This chapter's song is You Are A Tourist by Death Cab for Cutie: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qkk5wViJo-I And yes, Kenny dies, because Kenny does that.


	5. forgotten birthdays and meddling friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle forgets an important holiday and Kenny's friend means well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! No ligament tear, I just dislocated my kneecap. I can walk again!
> 
> In other news, K2 week is here and I'm writing prompts as they happen because I love piling work onto myself.
> 
> Enjoy my fumbling attempts at text formatting

An incessant beeping signals the beginning of a new day for Kyle. His hand moves of its accord and slams down onto the alarm clock to switch it off. He always tell himself that waking early primes him for a more relaxing morning, but the reality is that he has nowhere to be for a couple hours and it's extremely tempting to spend those in his bed. A groan escapes from his throat as he pulls the sheets off himself. He trudges to the bathroom where he stares into the depths of his tired reflection. The mess of copper curls atop his head remains untamable and the bags under his eyes are quite impressive. He simply sighs, washes his face, brushes his teeth, and pads out into the kitchen area. As he pours cereal into a bowl on autopilot, he attempts to make sense of the past few days.

The day before yesterday, Kyle turned in his thesis - though he still has to defend it in about a week - and went on a kind of date with a man who only a day previous had essentially destroyed his laptop. The same man that Kyle agreed to meet for coffee in three days. Now that Kyle has had time to settle his mind a bit, he reflects on the out of character behavior he'd exhibited around Kenny. The stress of his thesis and the general lack of sleep explained his initial explosion at the blond, but not quite the decision to traipse back to Kenny's house, fall asleep, and allow the other man to pay for his computer expenses. He must've been more loopy than he'd thought. 

Still, Kyle couldn't deny the way the other had treated him. Despite setting the whole series of events into motion with what amounted to a shitty pick-up, Kenny had, for the most part, been a far more decent human being than many Kyle had met. Kenny promised retribution and he delivered. Then there was all that fuss Stan caused… Ever since Kyle was informed of Kenny's fame, he couldn't stop seeing the blond and his housemates all around him. They were on the billboards atop buildings, all throughout his social media feeds, and even the girl, Red, starred in some shitty snack commercial. Kyle understands Stan's frustration at Kyle's cluelessness now. Kenny and his band, MOOP, reach far and wide. In all fairness though, Kyle had been solely focused on obscure Canadian children's media for the past few months. Any and all American pop culture flew far above his head at the moment. 

A cheerio hits Kyle's socked foot and he emerges from his contemplation. Kyle looks down and his face contorts. Cheerios cover the countertop in a sea of fiber-filled o's originating from the pitiful bowl unable to contain their sheer numbers. Kyle swears and sets the box to the side so he can begin cleaning up. Yep, things involving Kenny made Kyle act out of character. He swears he hasn't space-cadetted this much since he moved to Denver from Jersey. Coming to terms with transitioning from violence and sex as a communication tool to the delicate droll that dripped out of Coloradoan stoners' mouths had forced Kyle inwards upon himself. Until he met Stan, Kyle doesn't think he did more than stare out windows and almost accidentally walk into traffic. 

Once Kyle aggregates the mess into some paper towels, he transfers them to a sandwich bag. He'll bring them with him when he goes on a walk later, hopefully the wildlife would gain from Kyle's mistake. The remaining cheerios are doused in soy milk and the bowl carried to the couch. Kyle flops down and scrolls through his phone as he spoons his breakfast into his mouth. He opens his texts and finds three new messages:

> \- Ma : bubby your father and I want to know where you want to eat for your Birthday this saturday. call me when you can Love ya, ma [8:12 AM]
> 
> \- Ike: hey grandpa, call ma she thinks you forgot your birthday. I know you did, so here's your reminder [8:13 AM]
> 
> \- Kenny <3: Hey darlin wyd? Can't wait for Saturday ;) [8:35 AM]

Kyle's stomach drops into his feet. He sets his empty bowl on his coffee table and grabs a pillow from the side of his couch. He proceeds to bury his face into the pillow's forgiving plush and to let loose a scream of all-encompassing frustration. Once he feels satisfied that he has successfully smothered his sorrows, he replaces the pillow and continues his morning routine. As he washes his dishes he contemplates Stan's assessment that his thesis had taken complete control of his life. Scrubbing a little harder than necessary, Kyle scolds himself for forgetting his birthday. The redhead doesn't particularly make a show of his birthday in the first place, and with all the excitement, of course he forgot.

Ambling off the his bedroom to get dressed, Kyle wonders what his next move ought to be. He shrugs out of his t-shirt and pulls on a long-sleeved v-neck. There's no reason that Kyle can't both go on a date with Kenny and go to dinner with his parents. Kyle sets picks up a pair of dark wash jeans and tugs them on. Should he tell Kenny about his birthday? He definitely can't tell his parents about Kenny, at least not yet. A sweater-vest and loafers complete Kyle's attire and he takes a deep breath before sending out a text.

> \- Me: Stan. I forgot all about my birthday and I have a date with Kenny the same day my parents want to have dinner. Provide me with emotional support [9:08 AM]  
>  \- SBF: dude u have a date w Kenny??? [9:08 AM]  
>  \- Me: Stan. [9:09 AM]  
>  \- SBF: i can't believe u forgot your bday except i totally can [9:09 AM]  
>  \- SBF: why do u need support? that sounds rad, two birthday meals [9:09 AM]  
>  \- Me: I dunno… I guess I'm nervous. I haven't gone on a date in a while and I haven't seen my family in like a month. I'm scared my mom will sniff out that I've gone out and drag it out of me, you know how she is… [9:10 AM]  
>  \- SBF: yeah ur mom is scary good at knowing ur love life… [9:10 AM]  
>  \- Me: I'm heading out, gonna call you [9:11 AM]  
>  \- SBF: K [9:11 AM]

Kyle grabs his messenger bag, significantly lighter without his laptop, and heads out. Wireless earbuds go in his ears and he taps away at his phone as he locks his door. Soon Stan's tired voice sounds in his ears.

"So I'm not sure how this is a problem, again," Stan says. His reiteration is followed by a yawn that has Kyle similarly yawning. 

"I don't want to run the chance that my mom finds out that I went on a date. She'll badger me until I tell her and then she'll flip when she finds out I went on a casual date, more of a friends' outing I'd say, with a famous person," Kyle explains. He makes his way downstairs and exits his apartment complex. Luckily, a bus stop is situated relatively close to his building, and he meanders toward it, waving his hands as if Stan were right beside him. 

Stan sighs, "That's not really a bad thing. You know most girls and a whole lot of guys would kill to be in your position."

"He's just a normal guy, though? Until you yelled at me, he never struck me as a celebrity. I just don't know how my mom would take it. My dad wouldn't care, I think. But my ma would either," Kyle brings up a hand and taps out his theories on his fingers, "one: tell me to not get involved with famous people and focus on settling down with a nice Jewish girl; two: she could try to get me to introduce her to Kenny, which, no; and three: she could become even more invested in my dried up love life than she already is."

"Kyle, all of those are totally things that could happen. But, and you've got to listen to me here. What if she just doesn't care," Stan suggests in response to Kyle's rant. The bus arrives and Kyle steps aboard, taking a window seat.

"I'd have to get her checked out by a professional if she responded apathetically to any updates in my life," Kyle says in a resigned tone. He peers out the bus window and watches the sights of Denver pass him by on his way to his class. 

"Dude, forgetting your mother, what're we doing for your birthday? Just because you completely forgot it doesn't mean we aren't celebrating," Stan expertly switches topics. Kyle smiles softly.

"Well, my actual birthday is pretty booked. I'm pretty popular now, Stan, if you haven't noticed. Maybe I'll have you schedule something with my secretary," Kyle fakes a pompous tone. Stan's answering laugh makes Kyle break the façade with a snort of his own.

"Alright then, Mr. New Fame. How about I set up a party for you Sunday? Just a chill hang out with a couple of friends and a shit ton of booze," Stan proposes. Kyle takes a brief moment to consider before making a noise of assent. Stan tells Kyle to give him a list of people he wants to invite, but the rest of the party will remain hidden to Kyle until Sunday. The redhead expresses his amusement that Stan would try to keep the party a surprise after asking Kyle if he wanted it. Stan's sputtering send Kyle into a fit of giggles. After that, the two chat about nothing until Kyle reaches his stop. 

"Stan, I'm off to class. Text you later," Kyle says in parting. Stan responds in kind and the call ends. Kyle turns on a playlist and hums under his breath as he enters the building. His seminar is about an hour and a half and covers the intricacies of legal linguistics. Kyle always feels like he needs to constantly monitor his words once he leaves the lecture hall. The nuances of language could be a double-edged sword in the legal world. While walking to the building where his next class takes place, he pulls out his phone to respond to those text messages from this morning. 

> \- Me: Hey ma, I'll call you when I'm done with my classes [11:32 AM]
> 
> \- Me: Thanks for the "reminder", twerp. Don't think you're getting out of that dinner. I haven't seen you in two months, I have to make sure you're not taller than me [11:33 AM]

A reply comes instantly to the text to Ike:

> \- Ike: bite me >XP [11:33 AM]

Kyle doesn't reply, instead contemplating the contents of the third message of the morning. With so much to unpack, Kyle wonders where to begin. The casual pet name he'll let slide, it appears to simply be a Kenny thing. The text seems to prompt Kyle to elaborate on their weekend plans, which Kyle can address.

> \- Me: I'm in between classes. Did you have a place in mind or are we meeting back at Harbucks? [11:35 AM]

Hitting send with a huff of satisfaction, Kyle hides his phone away to enter his next lecture hall. Saturday marks his twenty second trip around the sun and he has a feeling that the following year will be no less strange that the first twenty two. 

\--

Kenny's phone pings from across the room. He doesn't look up, instead focusing on the sounds entering his ears through his headphones. His head bobs and his mouth forms wordless shapes with each beat pattern he tests on his sound system. He taps out a snare rhythm and pushes a button on his mixer to set the sound to loop. Kenny listens carefully to the way the beat mingles with the sample of Butter's bass and Red's accompanying synth track. His brows furrow and he deletes the snare track. He's been at this for half an hour, trying out tracks, throwing out tracks, starting over. 

Kenny is not the only occupant of the room, though, and Craig leans over to pick up the blond's phone. His expression conveys surprise and curiosity at reading the notification. His gaze slides over to Kenny, still lost in the music that Craig cannot hear. Some days it seems as if no one can hear the music Kenny hears. Craig returns his attention the phone screen and decides to meddle. He still hasn't had the chance to get back at Kenny for mentioning Craig's collection. He taps in the password and opens the text message.

> \- Me: Depends. What do you want to eat [11:38 AM]

The reply comes a few minutes later:

> \- red-hot coffee boy: I'm in lecture, might be slow. Thought we were just getting coffee [11:43 AM]  
>  \- Me: Harbucks it is [11:43 AM]

Craig sits in his chair, staring at the phone and thinking that meddling is a lot more boring than he'd thought it would be. Maybe he should meddle more proactively than attempting to imitate Kenny.

> \- Me: Hey. This is Kenny's friend. What are your intentions [11:44 AM]  
>  \- red-hot coffee boy: …what? [11:50 AM]  
>  \- Me: Kenny doesn't usually see his buddies after they leave his bed. What did you do [11:51 AM]  
>  \- red-hot coffee boy: First off, ew. Second, I never was in his bed. I don't know why he wants to see me again, either. [11:55 AM]  
>  \- red-hot coffee boy: I get your suspicion, but if you want to interrogate me, please do it on your own phone and not while I'm in class. [11:55 AM] 

At that, Craig stops texting who he presumes to be the redhead from a few days ago. He maintains his position that Kenny never dates, only engaging in casual one-night stands. Breaking that pattern has Craig curious as to what could cause the change in behavior. He pulls out his own phone and types in the man's number. He pockets the device, stands, and pads over to Kenny. Craig reaches out a hand and taps the side of Kenny's electric drum set. The vibration through the set more so than the noise snaps Kenny out of his concentration. The clunky headphones covering Kenny's ears move to rest against his collarbones 

"'Sup, big guy," Kenny greets. He almost misses the catch when Craig lightly tosses his phone to him.

"I got bored meddling. You ready for me to record my bit yet? Or are you still on the same snare track," Craig says conversationally. Kenny narrows his eyes and quickly unlocks his phone to see what the taller man meant by "meddling". His eyes widen almost comically and he shoots up out of his chair.

"Craig, you total douche nozzle, why do you do me like this," Kenny questions in a betrayed voice. He gracefully maneuvers around his drums while staring at his phone screen.

"Don't worry, I followed his suggestion and added his number. You can sext him all you want now," Craig drones with a smirk.

"Bitch! That's not the point! Don't talk to him," Kenny berates, "And wipe that smile off your face. I'm not gonna sext him or anything like that."

Craig inclines his head, "Have you learned your lesson about mentioning the TPC?"

Kenny drops his shoulders in exasperated confusion, "TPC- wh- Craig? Is this about mentioning your photo collection of Tweek?"

A hiss of breath, "You swore never to talk about it and yet here you are, talking about it."

Kenny could scream, "I didn't even tell Tweek anything! You're overreacting. But if you scared Kyle off I'm going to go to Harbucks and dump a box full of your collection onto Tweek's head."

"Now who's overreacting," Craig throws back. Kenny leans in and bares his teeth in a threatening grin. Craig furrows his brows and crosses his arms. A staring match commences, a battle that will be told for generations to come, if Craig has anything to say about it. He'll talk Tweek into adopting kids just so he can pass on this story. He may even text Tricia about it, later. For now, he and Kenny lock eyes for a good minute, refusing to relent. The loser will of course lose the conversation on the whole. Craig cannot afford to do much more than breathe to survive.

The contest comes to an end when the door opens. Kenny looks over to Butters who enters to announce lunch before swearing loudly. Craig lets out a brief chortle, having won the argument. Kenny claps a hand to his shoulder on the way out of the room.

"Seriously, Craigory, let me try something different," Kenny requests with a soft quirk of his lips, "No need to bring the Spanish Inquisition on him just yet." With that, Kenny exits the room on Butters' heels, leaving Craig alone with his victory that feels more hollow by the second.

The man huffs, bringing a hand up to tug at one of the strings on his chullo self-consciously. He'll have to talk to Tweek about what happened in that Harbucks at half past four in the morning. Tweek would know how to help Craig through his bought of emotions. Dare he say it, he feels protective of his friend, so maybe he can rant about it to Tweek later. For now, Craig ventures out of the music room and sighs at the scent of lunch. Food, first. Feelings, later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No song for this chapter, despite the first instance of actual usage of instruments. The way in which MOOP operates and creates music is something we'll explore later, but for now, I learned because of this fic that electric drums are a real thing and that's pretty awesome.
> 
> I like sibling interactions, probably because I don't have any myself, so prepare yourselves for lots of Kyle and Ike bantering and Craig and Tricia gossiping. This is another filler chapter so,,, sorry? But not sorry, because stories need foundations and I want context before Kyle and Kenny can make goo-goo eyes at each other. 
> 
> Also: I use the birthdays I find on the official site and wikis, and make up what isn't explicitly mentioned. Timeline wise (which is something I fixate on) we're in 2018, Kyle is turning 22 on May 26, a Saturday. Watch me screw up my own calendar later, but for now we're okay. Thanks for reading :]


	6. brief interludes and bird seed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Kenny and Kyle's date, Red has some business to take care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missed me? Well moving out is time consuming and energy draining. I'm not even moved out and I'm missing home.
> 
> Enjoy Red missing something, too

From across the hall the cacophonous buzz of Craig's alarm clock causes Red to stir. Her eyelids flutter until the ceiling stares back at her. She frowns. The sheets fly to the corner of the bed and Red whips open her bedroom door to bang on Craig's door.

"If you don't turn that shit off you're going to need another alarm clock after I throw that one in the blender," Red calls through the wood. She hears a shuffle and then the annoying noise ceases. That piece of shit clock is safe for one more day. 

Peering at the clock in her own room reveals that Craig planned to get up at nine in the morning. That works for Red, and she pads over to her closet, sliding the door open. The phrase "black goes with everything" seems to have gone to Red's head as she gazes at the color diversity of her attire. The most adventurous color she owns comes in the form of the lighter grays and soft heathers she sprinkles throughout her otherwise wine and death colored clothing. 

One pair of ripped skinny jeans and a thick corded plum sweater later, and Red leaves her room with a pair of heeled boots in one hand. Walking into the living area, she barely notices the filming equipment until her foot nearly knocks into a light stand. She stumbles for a step before regaining her normal posture.

"Careful, Red! Don't want ya hurtin' yerself," Butters voices from the other side of the room, fiddling with a mic hanging over the kitchen counter. Red can put two and two together and when Butters announces he's filming this weeks episode of The Butters Show, the tall woman simply smiles encouragingly before bidding the blond man good luck and goodbye.

Red pulls on her boots by the door and buttons up her knee-length peacoat. Locking the door behind her, Red sets out for some errands. Her boots tap against the concrete as she strolls down the streets of Denver, her breath spilling out of her mouth in translucent plumes. Putting a single earbud in, leaving the other open to hear the sounds of the city, Red puts on a rap album, mouthing along with the lyrics. 

The bell rings when Red pushes open the door to Harbucks. The morning rush died about half an hour ago, so Red strolls right up to the counter and the jittery blond behind it. 

"How's your morning been, Tweek," Red inquires politely. 

"Ngh, if one more person orders from the 'secret menu', I'm going to make them a part of it," Tweek complains, hand moving to grip his hair before remembering he works with food. 

Red lets out a chuckle, "Well, control yourself. Craig would be even more annoying if he couldn't see you because you were in prison." She loves teasing Tweek about dating her cousin, because if she doesn't, who will? Kenny will, but Red feels that the extra practice she gives Tweek builds his tolerance to the force of nature that is Kenny McCormick. 

"Ah, geez, Red. I can't go to prison! T-there's no Craig _or_ coffee there; I'd -rgh- I'd die," Tweek responds with a shudder, but Red can see the slight upturn of his lips. Considering her mission accomplished, she orders her usual, paying and waving goodbye to Tweek. Errand one: complete. 

The coffee warms the redhead up, and by the time she reaches a local mom-and-pop grocery store, she's shaken off her drowsiness and the cold of the Coloradoan spring. Somehow, even after moving out of the eternal winter wonderland of South Park, the snow followed Red and her friends to Denver. It seemed as though the climate of the city had changed simply to keep MOOP in winter coats year round. 

As Red muses to herself about the wacky weather, she peruses the pet food aisle. It's more of a section than an aisle, the other contents feeling rather random next to kibbles and bits. The elderly store clerk turns at the sound of Red placing a bag of premium bird seed on the counter. A smile forms on her face, crinkling the wrinkles around her eyes and lips further.

"Ah, welcome back. It's Friday already, Becca?" the woman asks Red. The taller woman offers a lopsided smile in return.

"The weeks just fly by, don't they, Mrs. Rothstein?"

"Becca, you're far too young to be saying that. Hold on, sweetie, I've just finished a batch of bagels," with that, Mrs. Rothstein disappears behind a door. Red shifts on her feet, eyes following passers-by through the glass windows of the shop. A minute or so later, the old lady returns with a tray of bagels, which she places in a display rack next to the cash register. She pulls one out with a napkin and holds it out for Red.

"Oh, thank you. How much do I owe you," Red asks, gratefully taking the heavily seasoned, steaming bagel. 

"Five fifty for the seed, but the bagel is on me."

Red's face softens further, "Mrs. Rothstein, you're too kind."

Ringing up the bag of seeds, the elderly woman shakes her head with a laugh, "Sweetie, you act too old for your age. I should be the one feeding birds in the park on a weekday. The least I can do is keep you from going hungry out there."

A few more pleasantries, and Red exits the store with an easy smile. Errand two: complete.

She catches a cab to her next destination, a small shop that specializes in both gaming and comic books. The bagel napkin finds its way to a trash can and the bird seed rests in her grip. Red enters the shop and greets the patrons playing a game of Magic at the front table. They grumble what may be interpreted as a response before returning to their game. Her boots emit no sound, floating over the carpet as she walks over to the employees only door. 

Red knows she doesn't work here, but it's worth it when she pushes the door open to her nerd's office. He glances up from his desktop, then performs a classic double take.

"Red, is it Friday already," Kevin asks in a startled voice, standing.

Red leans against the doorframe, "Yeah, it is. I'm a bit offended that you forgot about our date."

"You could've sent a text, at least. Let me go tell Jimmy that I'm going on break," Kevin responds, grabbing his coat from the back of his cushy office chair, "And we're lucky that Annie knows that Fridays are Birbdays."

Red lets Kevin past her on his way out to inform his co-owner of his schedule change. She frowns at his back, thinking about his words. Kevin's girlfriend has always been incredibly accepting of Kevin and Red's close friendship. One would think that a girl might be intimidated at the idea of their boyfriend frequently going out on 'friend dates' with his female friend. Annie Knitts really is an angel, Red thinks disappointedly. She follows Kevin out the door back into the main store.

"-and so I'll be back in a few hours, okay?"

"Y-y-yeah, Kev. Go f-f-fuh-fuuh-feed those b-birds," Jimmy says, knocking into Kevin's side with a chuckle.

Kevin hails a cab, and then he and Red are walking to their favorite bench in a downtown park. The two sit down in the middle of the bench, the bird seed bag between them after Kevin cuts it open with his pocket knife. Red throws the first handful of seed, and soon a flock of park pigeons pluck at the spread before them.

"So, how was your tour, Red," Kevin begins. At the prompting, the atmosphere shifts from formality and routine to friendship and comfort. Red bodily sags, her legs stretching out and open in relief. 

"Kev, being famous is exhausting," Red sighs. Kevin responds with snorting laughter. She continues, "No matter where we went people had cameras and wanted to take pictures with me. My vocal cords still hurt and I had to listen to Craig bitch for three straight hours about how planes are shit. And the first night we're back in town, Kenny brings this guy home and I'm like, 'can't keep it in your pants for like, a day?' except this boy looked dead on his feet even at noon and I just wanted to hug him. And Kenny's going on a date tomorrow with the guy. Craig has Tweek, Kenny's got this red Jewfro, Butters doesn't want anyone, and I'm still painfully single.

"But Kevin, cities are magical places. LA? Gorgeous. New York? Otherworldly. Austin? …Weird; but that's to be expected. I hope we get big enough to go on an international tour some day. I wish you and Annie could make it to one of our shows, but I know crowds aren't your thing…" Red trails off mid-rant. She looks over at Kevin and startles at the fond look he fixes her with. 

"Sounds like you had a fun time," he says sagely and grabs a handful of seed, sprinkling it across the path. 

Red smirks, "Yeah," she huffs, "How are you and Annie? You nutted up and bought that ring, yet?"

Kevin stutters and flushes, "We were talking about it, and Annie and I decided we're not ready for that. She wants to go to grad school and Games and Geeks has only been open a few months. We're not… stable enough."

Red levels Kevin with an indecipherable stare, "Ah. Well, aren't you two mature." Kevin shoves Red lightly with his shoulder and the two laugh. 

"Shut up. We've only been dating a year anyway, and we don’t live together. What if we hate each other's living habits?" Kevin frets.

"Dude, you had explosive diarrhea on your third date. At her house. And didn't she puke in your mouth that one time when she had the flu?" Red lists. Kevin slaps a hand across her mouth as she attempts to continue.

"Okay, I get it. But handling gross scenarios isn't the only thing that makes a relationship work," he says, turning to watch the birds, pointing out a few doves that have joined the flock.

Red knows. Kevin knows that she knows. You don't know someone since you've been in diapers, date them for a year in high school, and still keep up with an intimate friendship and not know how relationships work. Still, the two can agree that being able to handle another person at their grossest does help. The two change subjects to more mundane topics like the ridiculousness that transpires in Kevin and Jimmy's small business or the even crazier goings on in MOOP. 

The birds come and go, and soon, three hours have passed and the bird seed bag nearly blows away in the wind if not for Red's reflexes. The two friends stand from the metal bench and stretch out their limbs. Comfortable silence envelops them during the walk back to the street and the cab ride back to Games and Geeks. The taxi drops off Kevin, and only then do the two exchange words again.

"Next Friday, remember, so you don't leave the whole store to just Jimmy," Red teases.

"Hey, Jimmy's better with customers than I am. Even if he's too easy on the part-timers," Kevin retorts. The two share one last laugh before the car door closes and Red instructs the driver to take her back to her penthouse. She falls back into the questionable fabric of the cab's seats. 

She won't lie and say that a part of her doesn't wish that Kevin and Annie would crash and burn. The girls Kevin dated before Annie all left after discovering his Star Wars figurine collection. Annie simply told Kevin that he had a good eye for collectables, and Red really wishes that the powderpuff blonde is secretly a huge bitch behind being the perfect woman. Another part of her knows that she would rather pine hopelessly for Kevin for the rest of her life than see him unhappy or have him leave a wonderful woman like Annie. A sigh escapes her as she arrives to the same conclusion she always does after their Friday meet-ups.

She'll do anything to support Kevin, including watching him build his life without her.

Errand three: complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've read comments and I love where y'all want this story to go, it's so dramatic! It makes me happy that people think about it to that extent. You'll have to wait and see what happens, of course ;]
> 
> I feel like canon Red is a cheerleading co-captain, popular, relatively shallow girl. That's what the show lets us see. Yet, it's canon Kevin Stoley is a fuckin' Star Wars nerd and Red is consistently known to be dating him. I like the fandom's interpretation that this means Red is a secret nerd, and I like seeing fan designs of her that depict her as more of a goth. I think something that humanizes characters is the contradictory elements that make them up. Thus, our Red is a nerdy goth that enjoys being a mom-friend and feeding pigeons like an old lady. Also, it's possible to change, so perhaps Red was initially a cheerleader that became disillusioned? She is cousins with Craig after all. 
> 
> This chapter was more an icebreaker for me so that I could get the creative juices flowing again (and because I love Red). Should update again, soon. And then not again for a little while as I settle into a different city where I don't know anyone. Thank you for being patient <3


	7. scenes galore and new beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday is just getting started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These scenes had all just been sitting in my head and I needed to introduce a few more of the couples in this fic, also I just wanted to indulge in Bebe and her relationship with Clyde

It never fails to amaze Kyle how strange life can be at times. One day he wears wife-beaters and tattered jeans daily and nearly knocks the teeth out of anyone who looks at him in Newark, the next he's graduating salutatorian from his high school in Denver. One day he's on his fourth girlfriend of the year, the next he's shoving his tongue down some guys throat and never looking back. And one day school dominates Kyle's mind, the next he stares at his phone in befuddlement and mild annoyance as the friend of a guy he's known for less than a week gives him the shovel talk over text. 

Kyle confronted the situation head-on was typical for him. After some profuse apologizing on Kenny's part and some ranting to Stan on Kyle's part, Kyle assured Kenny that it took more than an overly involved friend to prevent Kyle from getting a caffeine fix. Perhaps in an ironic gesture of fate, the day after the text altercation, Stan acquired Kyle's phone for a brief moment. He utilized the time to copy Kenny's number into his own phone, unbeknownst to Kyle, of course. A covert operation began to take place.

For now, though, Kyle stands in front of his bed staring holes into two of his shirts. Previous comments narrowed down his selection to these particular pieces of clothing. On the left, a plaid button-up that apparently hugs Kyle's figure quite nicely. On the right, a dark gray corded sweater that enhances Kyle's overall aesthetic. Hand poised underneath his chin, the other arm supporting his casual critiquing pose, Kyle's eyes flit from shirt to shirt. On the one hand, this excursion for coffee didn't require nearly as much thought as Kyle currently dedicates to it. On the other, Kyle hadn't met a nice guy in a really, really long time, let alone one who wanted to see him after he'd shown his rage capabilities. 

Stan, bless him, told Kyle to just be himself, which helped Kyle absolutely nil. Kyle had turned to Wendy, Stan's girlfriend, for better advice, but she'd told him essentially the same thing. All in all, Kyle feels a little betrayed at the lack of decisiveness. After another five minutes of staring off into space and contemplating the merits of cotton versus polyester, Kyle lets out a frustrated noise and ruffles his hair. Fishing around in his pocket, he pulls out his phone and begrudgingly pulls up a contact that he knows will help him with his appearance. The dial tone sounds two times before a sleepy, feminine voice emerges from the phone's speaker.

"Hey Bebe, it's Kyle. I need a bit of help with an outfit…"

\--

The phone shakes a bit as Stan tries to work up the courage to send the message. He keeps telling himself that this is for Kyle, it's totally not for him. Yet, the text window stares back at him, judging him for using his Super Best Friend to lure his favorite band into said friend's apartment where Stan can talk to them. 

"Wendy, tell me I'm doing this as a birthday present for Kyle and not self-indulgence," Stan pleads of his girlfriend, who sprawls across his form on the couch.

"You're doing this as a birthday present for Kyle and not self-indulgence," Wendy drones monotonously, her focus more directed at the drama on the television. 

"Thanks, babe. Knew I could count on you," sarcasm always becomes Stan, no matter what anyone else says. Wendy sticks her tongue out briefly, eyes never leaving the screen across the room.

The clear teasing did help to ease Stan's nerves, however. He inhales, and taps out an invitation.

> Me: hey this is stan, kyle's friend, we met over kyle's thesis. we're throwing him a birthday party on tomorrow, you interested in surprising him? [10:28 AM]

The reply came so quickly Stan nearly drops his phone.

> Kenny (MOOP!): its his birthday tomorrow??? [10:28 AM]  
>  Kenny (MOOP!): u the guy in the yellow polo? [10:28 AM]  
>  Me: yes i'm the yellow polo guy. no, it's today. we were gonna throw him a party tomorrow since he has other plans today [10:29 AM]  
>  Kenny (MOOP!): dude i know he has plans today im those plans [10:30 AM]  
>  Kenny (MOOP!): y didnt he tell me it was his b-day? [10:30 AM]  
>  Me: he's having dinner with his parents too, but like, not the point. u wanna come drink with him, me, and a few other people? [10:30 AM]  
>  Kenny (MOOP!): man id love to jump right on that shit but like what if our date goes like shit what then [10:31 AM]  
>  Me: i'm his best friend and lemme tell u the only thing that could ruin that date is if someone dies [10:31 AM]

Stan didn't receive a reply for a few minutes after that. He wonders if he laid it on a little thick. Does a friend usually get this involved this early on in… whatever was happening? Stan doesn’t know, but luckily Kenny finally replies and he doesn't have to resort to actually watching the show Wendy has on.

> Kenny (MOOP!): ok…ill go… you think hed mind if i brought the band? we can bring smthn since 4 peoples a bit much [10:42 AM]

Stan nearly squeals.

> Me: nah man he'll be cool [10:43 AM]  
>  Kenny (MOOP!): aight then jus lemme know the details and were aces [10:43 AM]

After he rattles off the time and place to Kenny, he pulls up the note on his phone where his party plans reside. 

_Kyle's Secret Party_

__

__

_\- Get kyle's key on Sunday_  
\- _Distraction_  
\- _Put up_  
○ _Streamers_  
○ _Balloons_  
\- _Food & drinks_  
○ _Wendy- spinach dip and decorations_  
○ _Bebe & Clyde- pizza (from veggie pizza place, vegan pizza for Kyle)_  
○ _Tweek- cake_  
○ _Me- juice and beer_  
\- _Put kyle's playlist on speaker_  
\- _End distraction_  
\- _Surprise_  
\- _Party_

Stan thinks his planning seems pretty thorough if he says so himself. Kenny and MOOP can definitely assist him in the only area where his expert event organization skills may be lacking. 

> Me: u think u can distract kyle for like an hour tomorrow? [10:46 AM]  
>  Kenny (MOOP!): distract is my middle name [10:47 AM]  
>  Me: nice [10:47 AM]

Setting down his phone, Stan then wraps his arms around Wendy and buries his head in her midnight locks. 

"Babe, can we please watch something else," he once again pleads.

"Just because you can't appreciate the analytical practice that The Bachelor provides doesn't mean that you shouldn't be exposed to it," Wendy reasons unapologetically. Stan sighs, knowing he's lost the TV for another night.

\--

The last thing Clyde expects to wake up to on this fine Saturday morning is shrill screaming. Living with Bebe Stevens, though, should have prepared him for such a scenario. As such, the brunette bolts upright in bed and scans the room frantically for any murder. His eyes only find his girlfriend bouncing from foot to foot in one of his t-shirts, her phone pressed to her ear. He falls back unceremoniously onto the bed and lets out a loud groan.

"I've been waiting for this day, Kyle! Should I come over? Do you need to go shopping? Can I style you," Bebe's voice augments in volume and pitch with each question. Clyde swears he can hear a _"NO!"_ from the phone, and decides that he may as well get up for the day. 

The cold floor elicits a hiss from Clyde as his sleep-warm feet make contact. He stands, popping his joints in several places, and pads over to the master bathroom. A quick piss, brush, and water splashed in his face and he's fully awake. Exiting the bathroom, Clyde notes that Bebe is still on the phone. She rattles off tip after tip about men's fashion to presumably Kyle. 

"And, in conclusion, I think that the sweater and the loafers would be the best course if you insist on wearing those pants," Bebe finishes. She nods her head along with Kyle's response and offers a quick goodbye before seeming to remember something. "Oh! Kyle, happy birthday! Have a good one, see ya tomorrow," she says with a wink that Clyde knows is capable of transmitting through cellular telephones. She hangs up and throws her phone onto the bed.

"Clyde," Bebe drags out the sound of Clyde's name, opening her arms, "Come cuddle with me before I have to go to work."

A few strides across their room and Clyde scoops his girlfriend up in his arms, reveling in her squeal and subsequent giggles. He buries his face in her supple neck and blows a raspberry, causing her laughter to take on a more raucous tone. Clyde loves the ridiculous guffaws that Bebe only lets out around him. He spins her around once, twice, then gently tosses her onto the bed. He's about to pounce on top of her when she winces and lets out a hiss of pain.

"Shit, Clyde, I landed on my phone," she complains.

"Oh, damn, honey, my bad," Clyde placates, crawling over her carefully to check for injury.

Bebe shifts under him and then sets her phone on the night stand, "Not your fault, love," she turns back and loosely hangs an arm around Clyde's neck, gently drawing him in, "Now, let's get back to cuddling."

Clyde's lips curl to match the soft grin on his lover's face. He leans down to capture her lips in an imperfect kiss as their two smiles meet.

"Gladly."

\--

Kyle sets his phone down with a sigh and picks up the heather sweater. Talking to Bebe always yields quick results, but the hurricane of a woman always tries so hard to drag Kyle out of his comfort zone. Kyle likes his comfort zone, thank you very much. He shrugs on the shirt and toes on the loafers that Bebe recommended. He passes by his bathroom and checks himself in the mirror. His curls rest elegantly on top of his head (which had taken at least an hour), and his features appear sharper than most days. Kyle sees this as an auspicious sign and smiles to himself. 

Soon Kyle finds himself walking down the block from his apartment to Harbucks. He shakes himself a few times, shoving his hands in his coat pockets to keep from noticing their tremors. _Just a coffee date, just a coffee date_ , he assures himself. The bell rings as Kyle pushes the door open and he sighs heavily. He looks up and immediately locks eyes with said date. Kenny waves to him.

The breath not exhaled in the previous sigh whooshes out of Kyle's lungs. Kenny sits at a table by the windows, allowing the sun to strike his hair such that it takes on an ethereal glow. Kyle sings Bebe's praises for choosing the sweater as he takes in the pale blue button-up on the blond, the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms revealing tanned arms. He leans forward on the empty table, signaling to Kyle that he's waited to order.

Kyle steps forward and takes the seat opposite Kenny at the small table. The blond smiles so wide that his eyes crinkle shut. 

"Hey," he greets softly.

"Hey," Kyle returns shyly.

_Just a coffee date_ , Kyle's ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if it's not already clear, I love domestic couples. I really enjoy the comfort and casual ease that come with developed relationships. But, it takes time and effort to build that, so for now, our two boys are jittery and full of questions and excitement, as is typical for the early stages of dating. Not that they're even dating yet, but bruh, we all know
> 
> Anyway, I'm moving this Saturday so I wanted to squeeze something out before things get hectic. Who knows, maybe writing will be good stress relief for me and I'll churn out more chapters. 
> 
> Until next time ;]


	8. coffee dates and derriere analysis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The coffee date has finally begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE! Anyway, I've been at college for two weeks and it feels like I was born here and I'll die here. Somehow, I found time and inspiration to crank out the beginning of the coffee date. It feels almost... unsatisfying, but I think that's because I find dialogue-heavy writing to be difficult/boring/difficult and it wasn't the length that I'd prefer my chapters to be. Still, I wanted to write something and then I wanted to publish something, so here we are. Enjoy Kenny being Kenny

Kenny decides right here and now that Kyle's voice reminds him of symphonies. Granted, this symphony consists of a single instrument, but Kenny can hear the intricate indicators of a complex musical arrangement in the way Kyle speaks. The crescendos and decrescendos when Kyle transitions from grumbling to near yelling and back again fascinate Kenny. The harmony of Kyle's humming to Kenny's droning stories rings beautifully. Not to mention the way in which Kyle's whole body speaks with him much like a conductor, commanding complete control over the conversation, yet still going largely unnoticed over the din of the Harbucks. 

"…And so I think that it's kind of crazy that it's still snowing in May. You'd think that in the very least we'd only be getting sleet or icy bridges," Kyle ponders aloud, cheek resting (for now) on a palm, the other hand waving about to illustrate the preposterous weather. Kenny nods along in agreement.

"You know, I think that might be my fault," he says. At Kyle's puzzled face, he lets out a snicker.

"You see, in my hometown, South Park - it's about an hour south a' here - it snows year round. We used to get all sorts of fancy weather science guys comin' to check out why. Literally, about ten miles outside city limits the snow just kind of… stops? They never could figure it out, but I tell ya, that's not even the strangest thing about South Park," Kenny explains. His lips curl up in a fond smile as he talks about his old stomping grounds. 

"Oh," Kyle intones curiously, "tell me more."

Kenny barely notices the invitation, "Well, for like a couple weeks in third grade one of my classmates was the Antichrist. To this day I'm not sure if he was just going through a phase or if he was for real, but he did kill this one French kid in our class, so… And our school nurse had a dead fetus on her face and all the adults threw her a parade so she wouldn't feel like a freak. That's the kind of town South Park is: it's like, ignorance to the max in every way. And one time I did a prank for picture day and this one couple thought I was their long lost son. It was a mess but it turned out their son was Ben Affleck. Can you believe that?

"That was right before I ended up in the hospital for a while but Leo told me that the crazy shit kept up until I finally got out. Man, there's so much about that town that's ridiculously fucked up," Kenny runs a hand through his hair in nostalgic disbelief. He glances up and his rambling trails off.

Kyle now rests his chin on folded hands, a soft expression on his face. Kenny flushes a bit and clears his throat.

"Sounds like you had a wild time growing up. If you don't mind me asking, why were you in the hospital," Kyle inquires gently.

"Some random disease, I don't even remember what it was called. I was there for a month or so and then it cleared up, a miracle the doctors called it," Kenny doesn't mention that he actually died from said disease and thus resurrected. Even mentioning the hospital felt like too far for first date talk, let alone revealing a secret that no one but probably Cartman knew. That fat bastard knew everything except how to be a decent human being.

"That's amazing," Kyle comments, leaning in a bit, "You're not alone, you know. I was in the hospital a lot as a kid, too."

"You don't say," Kenny says conversationally, "so, tit for tat, why were you in and out all the time?"

Kyle snorts, "Well, I was sick a lot as a kid. I was always the one in class to catch the cold or the flu or even chicken pox one time. I also have Type I Diabetes, so that did me in a lot. And, I may not look it now," he gestures to himself and Kenny takes in the sophisticated sweater and neat appearance, "but I was quite rebellious as a teen."

Kenny interrupts, "What? No way. Are you for real?"

"Yes, I'm for real. I grew up in Newark and it's impossible to be a teenager there without rebelling in some way. So I got into fights a lot, and my ma usually took me to the hospital to guilt trip me," Kyle rolls his eyes at the last part, as if the privilege of hospital visits for the sake of hospital visits isn't mind-blowing to Kenny. The blond suddenly remembers something and straightens up quickly. 

"Hey, a little bird told me it's your birthday today," Kenny says suddenly.

Kyle mirrors Kenny's actions and straightens in his seat. Surprise flickers on his face for a second before morphing into exasperation.

"Did this bird's name happen to be 'Stan'," the question comes out more as a statement, as if Kyle already knows Kenny's answer. 

"I don't sell out my contacts, but I may or may not be taking you out again tomorrow to help with festivities," Kenny utters with a put-upon covert tone and an exaggerated wink. His acting earns him a chuckle and the tension leaving Kyle's shoulders. 

"That's so like Stan, I swear. And yeah, it is my birthday," Kyle admits. Kenny politely asks his new age and grins widely at the answer.

"No way, I knew since you were in college that we were around the same age, but, dude, I'm like, three months older than you. That's crazy," Kyle doesn't miss the exuberance in Kenny's voice, though he doesn't much see the value in their close ages. Kenny continues, "Anyway, you know this means we can't end this date with the coffee, right?"

"Speaking of, we haven't gotten our coffee yet," Kyle interrupts to point out their empty table. Kenny glances down.

"Ah, yes. Can't have a coffee date without the coffee, eh? What do you want," Kenny asks awkwardly. 

Kyle rises from his seat and crosses his arms, "Oh no, you're not paying again. I should be asking _you_ what you want. And I am. What do you want?"

Kenny notices the slight flush on Kyle's face and his face goes slack. The chivalry of it all enchants him, especially since he knows that Kyle isn't doing it out of pity or because he thinks Kenny can't pay for his drink.

"Um, then I'll have a mocha latte, no whipped cream, please," the order dribbles out of Kenny's mouth like he forgot to close it after drinking something, and all the liquid pours out of his open lips. Somehow, Kyle understands his mumbling and nods before heading toward the counter. It doesn't appear that Tweek is on duty today, though Kenny understands that the guy needs a break at some point.

The blond takes the opportunity to simply observe the other man as he orders their drinks. The dark wash jeans hug his legs nicely. So nicely, in fact, that as Kenny brings his eyes up Kyle's body slowly, he finds himself lingering on the redhead's backside. Though Kenny hasn't seen it without the cover of cloth (and Kenny has seen many a naked ass), he speculates that it might rank in the top three of all the asses he's ever laid eyes on. While Kenny wouldn't describe Kyle's butt as incredibly full, in fact it seems more perky than anything, he must note that the shape and size complement Kyle's lanky frame quite nicely. The man definitely did some kind of sport in high school is all Kenny is saying.

Finally, Kenny tears his analytical gaze from the man's derriere. The sweater adorning Kyle's torso somehow achieves the look of an over-sized baggy article while simultaneously showing off unexpectedly broad shoulders. Kenny could see himself using those shoulders as a decent pillow. Or as decent handholds. Mmf.

Thankfully, Kyle returns before Kenny can dig himself too deep into daydreams far too indecent for the middle of the day in public. Kenny's latte steams in its cup and the blond curls his hands around the container to leech off its warmth. Kyle appears to have gotten a similar looking drink, though Kenny can smell significantly less sugar in Kyle's beverage. 

"Whatcha drinkin'," Kenny inquires curiously. 

"Café lungo," Kyle says simply, before briefly blowing on his drink and taking a sip. Kenny flinches backwards, not understanding how Kyle casually sipped at a coffee that not only had absolutely no sugar in it, but also must be ridiculously hot.

"Alright, I get it. You're a badass who drinks boiling, black coffee while I'm still waiting for my sissy mocha to cool down," Kenny holds up his hands in a placating gesture, his tone light. Kyle snickers and takes another sip in response. 

"Oh! Hey," Kenny remembers, "back to what we were talking about earlier: this date shall not end with coffee. If I get to be around you on your birthday, then we've got to make it a fun one. Too bad it's not your 21st so I could get you legally plastered for the first time."

Kyle's face quirks in a way that suggests he might be attempting to hold back a laugh, "You want to get me plastered?"

Kenny considers his options. On the one hand, it always entertains him to see a person's drunk self, even if nine times out of ten it simply turns out to be a more lonely, more desperate version of their sober self. On the other hand, day-drinking on a first date doesn't strike Kenny as a good impression, especially given his track record with Kyle. On the other other hand, Kenny could play this off as a joke. Kenny always plays it off as a joke.

"Well, you know, drunk people are pretty entertaining. But I think you're plenty fun to talk to sans alcohol. Unless you did a few shots before you came here," Kenny decides to go with the other other other hand and try for some honesty mingling with humor. Judging by Kyle's shy reaction, he must have made the correct decision.

"Oh. Thank you. People usually find me a bit much," Kyle admits, eyes turned down to his coffee. 

Kenny leans in, his arms crossed on the table, "Well, darlin', I'm not People." 

Kyle glances up, quirking his eyebrows inward, a lopsided grin on his lips, "No, you're not."

"So, post-coffee birthday celebration?"

Kyle chuffs with fake prudence, "I suppose I should celebrate more than the not-a-surprise surprise party Stan is throwing tomorrow."

Kenny spends the next few minutes preening at his success while Kyle sips away at his coffee. Once Kenny deems his latte safe for human consumption, he halts his stream of words to listen to Kyle. Certainly between the two of them, both blessed with the gift of gab, silence seems an impossibility. Still, Kenny doesn't feel as though their conversation lacks in a mutual back and forth of listening and responding. The blond nearly flattens himself into the table in rapt fascination as Kyle weaves a tale about moving to Denver between his sophomore and junior years of high school. If somehow they wound up in medieval times, Kenny knows that Kyle would find a fruitful profession as a bard, or a prophet, or some other kind of orator. He could listen to that voice, commanding and haughty and slightly higher pitched than one would expect from someone his size, all day, every day.

Kenny gazes up at this walking symphony, and lets himself listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In terms of future updates, we'll be running on a system that looks a lot like "when was author feeling creative and also not like doing homework?" The next chapter might not actually take that long if I can come up with something for Kenny to do with Kyle after their coffee date. If anybody has suggestions or stuff they'd like to see, leave a comment and maybe it'll turn into a chapter. :]
> 
> Song for this chapter was Japanese Denim by Daniel Caesar [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7fwMho6nQq4 ]  
> (unoriginal, I know, since it's spreading around the internet like wildfire, but it's cute; let me live)
> 
> Can y'all believe that Season 22 comes out this month? Oh I'm so excited, I can't wait!


	9. sexy breakfast and resumed writing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek and Craig prepare for the party, Bebe and Clyde continue tradition, and Kyle and Kenny have a Mature Conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back, back again. Guess who's back? Tell a friend.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Tweek breathes in, holds the air in his lungs, then releases it back out into the room. His eyes remain closed, his palms open and upward on his knees. In this moment of serenity, he swears that he can feel the sunlight shining through his living room window, can feel the dust in the early morning air in each inhale. He opens his eyes. A new day begins, and with it, a new Tweek.

With morning meditation complete, Tweek reaches for his phone on the coffee table. He lazily pulls up his contacts and taps a name. Gently, he lowers his back to the floor, his legs still crossed. Tweek holds the phone by his ear and closes his eyes once more, focusing on the dial tone. After the third round of chiming, a sleepy voice crackles through.

"¿Bueno? Mi sol, es muy temprano para vivir," Craig mumbles. Tweek merely chuckles, accustomed to Craig using his first language when disoriented. 

"Mi sirenito, I need your help today," Tweek mutters softly into the receiver. He hears shuffling and grumbling on the other end confirming to Tweek that the call had woken him. 

"Whatcha need, babe," slightly more awake, Craig seems to have put Tweek on speaker. His voice seems further away, and when the blond goes to respond, he hears his voice echoed back. 

"I want to go to the grocery store to get ingredients for a cake. Saturdays are usually busy, and I'd like some company," voicing his request carefully, Tweek applauds himself for how he approached the situation. He recognizes that busy stores seem easier to navigate when he has good company, good distractions.

More shuffling, a distant clatter followed by a soft curse, "Sure, honey. Are we trying to beat the rush by going this early?"

Tweek chuckles, "Craig, it's nine o'clock."

Silence.

"So it is."

This time, Tweek laughs from his stomach, forcing him to uncross his legs. The serenity breaks, but Tweek still feels at peace.

\--

"Why the fuck are there so many kinds of flour?"

"Craig, there's lots of different kinds of baking," Tweek impatiently responds. His eyes dart back and forth amongst the truly horrendous selection before him. Though he quipped at Craig, he empathizes heavily with his boyfriend's distaste for decision-making, though not in baking. Strangely enough, baked goods comprise the only aspect of Tweek's life where he feels a comforting amount of control and revelry in decision-making. Finally noticing the type he needs, Tweek points to the top shelf, where a light blue box taunts him with its height. Craig never takes the low-hanging fruit by making a short joke. He simply plucks the box off the shelf and sets it in the cart silently. 

"Alright, next on the list is food coloring," reading from his carefully written list, Tweek takes note of the things he already has in his kitchen at home. Craig guides the shopping cart as Tweek trails behind, muttering to himself about the specifics of the recipe. Despite his familiarity with baked foods, the blond treats each recipe as if it is his first time baking.

As the two enter the aisle for food coloring and decorative baking, Craig reminds Tweek that Stripe VI needs baby carrots and grapes. Their last stop finds them surrounded by fruits and vegetables. A part of Tweek cringes as Craig selects not only Stripe's snacks, but also heads of lettuce, tomatoes, and other healthy foods that Tweek still struggles with accepting into his diet. 

All the same, as they approach the register and load their items onto the check-out conveyor belt, another part of Tweek feels lighter knowing that he's staying true to a commitment to live a healthier life. They're loading the groceries in the car when the shorter man decides to voice these thoughts.

"Craig," Tweek softly calls for his boyfriend's attention. He receives a grunt of acknowledgement and continues, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Just… for being a great boyfriend."

Tweek can't help but return the affectionate expression on Craig's face. 

\--

"Clyde, you wouldn't fuckin' believe the shift I've had."

Clyde guesses that he also wouldn't really care, but he turns to quirk a questioning brow at his fiancé regardless. One of his hands occupies a bowl of popcorn, while the other picks up the remote to mute the TV, a clear prompt for her to explain. He watches as Bebe kicks off her loafers and removes her heavy work belt. 

"Well, next week is Crime Prevention Week in the school district. We all have to spend a shift going around to the schools and teaching them that cops aren't going to shoot them on sight and like, also talking about what happens when they actually break laws," Bebe begins.

"Uh-huh," Clyde prompts.

"And that's not bad. In fact, I'm kind of excited to talk to little kids, show 'em that the system might be broken but not all the people in it are. But! That's not the interesting part. They had me on first response today so I went out to a couple domestics, a petty theft, the usual. And then, I walk into the station to start my reports and Sergeant Yates calls me into his office. I'm like, shit am I finally getting fired for all those parking tickets I wrote to get revenge on that one bitch from high school?-"

At that, Clyde levels Bebe with a look that conveys his inner conflict between being incredibly disappointed in her and wanting to laugh at her ridiculousness. The curly-haired blonde continues as if oblivious to his telepathy.

"But Clyde, get this! There's a spot opening up in homicide, and he's recommending me for the position."

Clyde starts, almost dropping his popcorn bowl. He sets it on the coffee table as an afterthought as he jumps into Bebe's arms.

"Bebe! I'm so proud of you. You've wanted this since high school," Clyde exclaims, clinging tightly to his fiancée, "we need to celebrate!"

Clyde untangles himself from Bebe's complicated uniform and picks up his phone from the coffee table. At the sight Bebe stiffens and jerkily reaches for Clyde's hand.

"Baby, no. I haven't gotten the job yet. You can't go around bragging," she scolds as Clyde instinctively raises his arms in the air upon seeing her approach him. 

"I'll brag all I want! We need to do something special, go roller-skating or some shit," he accepts the next hug from Bebe, mumbling the last part in her ear. A foolish choice, really. She chuckles and hugs him back, her hand stroking sensually down his arm. Clyde's mind fuzzes a bit at the edges and the next thing he knows, Bebe spins away with his phone in her clutches. Clyde lets out a noise of indignation once he realizes the deception.

"Oh, you little blonde devil!" Clyde exclaims, "You can't stop me from spilling at Kyle's party, though."

Bebe taps the phone against her chest gently, "Perhaps not, but I'm sure I can persuade you to keep it on the down low." She grins seductively and Clyde gulps at the way she proceeds to remove the rest of her uniform. He might stop breathing with the way she saunters back over to him… and right past him into the kitchen. He follows her much like a starving artist after the perfect muse. Once he sees the apron his mouth begins watering in a Pavlovian response. 

"Are we having Sexy Breakfast for Dinner," Clyde whispers in disbelief. The coy expression on his fianceé's face tells him all he needs to know before the words even escape her plush lips.

"Only if someone can keep his mouth shut and take his pants off," Bebe purrs. 

Bebe allows Clyde to feel like he can do anything he puts his mind to. He barely takes note of the impressive multitasking of zipping his lips shut and shedding his sweatpants simultaneously. It just makes sense that he can do such things when Bebe tells him he can. Especially when the reward is Sexy Breakfast for Dinner with the love of his life.

\--

"You know, it's actually not good for birds to eat bread. Their little tummies can't handle all that gluten," Kenny informs sagely. He inclines his head as he tilts the seed bag toward Kyle. 

A pale hand dips in, grabs a loose handful of miscellaneous seeds, and releases them out in front of the patch of grass the two now occupy. Kyle still isn't entirely sure how they wound up in this park, feeding pigeons, magpies, and the occasional mourning dove. Sometime after both of their drinks sat aside on the table, drained of their contents, Kenny suggested that they stop loitering. Kyle, not realizing how the time had passed, simply nodded along. A couple taxi rides later and the coffee date has transformed into feeding the local bird population. 

"Really, now? I thought all that stuff about gluten was just hooey," the redhead responds curiously. Kenny preens and readjusts invisible glasses to solidify his academic persona.

"Alas, it's not hooey. Though that's bad for the birds, too since they can't process preservatives either. And before you even bring up poppycock I'll have you know that it makes strawberries red, too, not just red meat," Kenny silently thanks Butters and his cooking show for the impressive information dump. The little blond walked the whole band through a slew of terms when the Gluten Debate surged during their high school years. It seems to have paid off, as Kyle raises his eyebrows.

"Well, aren't you well-versed," Kyle snickers. His chuckles die down when he notices the way Kenny's face briefly darkens. "Hey, something wrong?"

The shadows in Kenny's face linger, but sunshine breaks the clouds in his smile, "Nothing. It's just, is it kind of jumpy to have met you less than a month ago, gone on one legitimate date, and already be meeting like all of your friends?"

Red eyebrows furrow as Kyle processes that. Kenny takes it as a cue to continue.

"I'm like, genuinely asking. I like hanging out with you a lot more than I thought I would and, despite my unquenchable urge to tap that ass," Kyle's entire face squints at the honesty, "I would rather keep you around than see you in my bed and never again. Except, that seems too heavy for someone I just met."

Kyle nods as the blond trails off into silence. He considers for a moment before speaking, his hand sneaking over Kenny's. It's a tad cold, and his knuckles are rough, but when the blond turns his hand over to hold Kyle's, it doesn't matter.

"Kenny, I'm going to be honest with you. That was a lot," Kyle catches a flinch out of the corner of his eye, but stares at the birds instead, "I don't believe in things like soulmates, but," a frustrated grunt escapes him at what he's about to admit, "the past -and Stan- tell me I'm a hopeless romantic. I get swept up in my emotions really easily, so I didn't really notice that it might be strange that I'm fine with involving you in my life-"

"You can just forget I said anything then," Kenny interjects hurriedly. Kyle uses the hand not holding onto Kenny's own now clammy hand to shush the blond.

"I really respect that you brought this up. It takes courage to put yourself out there, especially given our brief history," this time Kyle faces Kenny, so he sees the flinch in its entirety, "This is just part of the process of dating, yeah? That is, if what we're doing is dating…"

Kenny spits out a "yes" and a minuscule sigh of relief slips out of Kyle.

"Then I wouldn't worry about it for now, Kenny. When either of us is uncomfortable with the pace we're going, then we can bring it up again. For now, I think it's good enough that you're considering it like that," Kyle finishes. The other man's blue gaze flickers between Kyle's own and a few inches lower.

"Is it too fast to try and kiss you," Kenny inquires. 

Kyle laughs, "Sorry, but I don't kiss on the first date." Kenny huffs, but turns his attention back to the seed bag and the birds that peer expectedly at the two.

The mood settles back into casual comfort. Their hands remain interlocked, the grass tickling their wrists and the sun caressing their fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you miss me? I missed me. Getting into the swing of school has left me with little time and motivation for writing anything other than papers for class. But I already had half of the chapter written and I hit a creative spike today so the rest of the chapter kinda just manifested itself. Maybe I'll update again soon, depending on how good the Halloween episode is this season and how long this creative mood lasts. Hope the update was enough after so long! Happy Halloween!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work; criticism is appreciated. I'm planning on making this a long-haul fic but my stamina may mean updates could be slow. Hope you enjoyed :]


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